


a drink they call loneliness

by alivealivealive



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bar, Baz plays piano, Drinking, First Meetings, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Post-Graduation, Romantic Fluff, They also cry a lot, Vet Simon!, and shag a lot too, don't worry it's very fluffy, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivealivealive/pseuds/alivealivealive
Summary: Baz Pitch can't be arsed to admit that he feels a bit stuck.He’s 25 and in the middle of finishing his PhD, thinks love just isn’t for him and plays the piano at the Club on the weekends.On a bleak Saturday night, he meets the owner’s son, Simon Snow, who might just help him get out of that place.





	1. To forget about life for a while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing art on:  
> https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/  
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, _MANU._ (omg! The next chapter drops tomorrow)): https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/

#####  Baz 

It’s what must be the bleakest Saturday night of the year. The rain is falling heavily outside and the windows are almost completely frosted. Blurry yellow and red lights glow through the windows from the outside and the rain is so heavy that I already know it’s going to be impossible to leave the Club before 2 a.m. It’s absurdly cold, and my suit jacket is barely keeping me warm.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m playing, I’d be freezing completely. I breathe in and clasp my hands together, as the clinking of glasses and chatter are filling the atmosphere while I prepare for another piece.

The regulars are scattered around, some of them are chatting at the bar, probably having the same conversation they had last week, and some of them are sitting at their usual tables, looking bored. I wonder how they find it enjoyable to come here every weekend, wearing stiff suits, ordering the same drinks and then having the same conversations over and over again, attempting to talk over the sound of the poor bloke playing the piano.

I’m the one who’s been playing here every week for over a year now. This is sort of a side job and I do it mostly to keep myself sane. If I didn’t, I think I’d go mental. The money it pays goes straight to my account, where it mixes with my mostly-untouched trust fund. I don’t even need the money I’m getting paid. I just do this on the weekends to take my mind off of Grad school.

Music has kept me sane for as long as I can remember. Sure, there’s been people, but the piano was my first love.

I had my first lesson at four. I could play a proper piece before I could actually write full sentences. And here I am, playing bloody _“Piano Man”_ and any other songs that members request every Saturday. Sixteen years of classical training resulting in me playing covers of ballads the general public loves.

My sets usually start with what _I want to play._

I usually open with a few Nocturnes while people start shuffling in. (It’s also a good warm-up after a long week.) Then I move on to instrumental versions of the music that I enjoy until requests start coming in, scribbled on the back of business cards, or on the thick, heavy cards the Club gives its members to request songs.

I usually know by heart how to play what they request. If I don’t, I can usually figure it out in under ten minutes by ear.

This is the sort of place where you need an invitation to join. The crowd consists of old money types, who are stuck with their choices, evident in their lifeless eyes. Most are the drink-to-forget types. It’s the kind of place where real feelings and conversations aren’t allowed. Where it’s worse to be queer than to cheat on your long-time spouse. (If they only knew). I’ve seen everything here and it’s really no surprise my Father is a member too. Thankfully, he only comes on Sunday for lunch. He says drinking on a Saturday is too common for him.

I try not to mix with anyone. I get in just before nine, play my set, out around midnight, straight to my car and then to my empty flat only if I’m not feeling a midnight curry.

The stability of having a job to look forward to makes the monotony of my life bearable. Not that I don’t like my degree. I love Economics. And I love the dissertation I’m working on. I just hate spending all day in my flat, reading paper after paper for my research topic and then writing about it some more.

It’s not that my life is bad. My family is nice, although I don’t see them much, and I’ve had my two best mates, Dev and Niall, since we were in school. People love me here too. I think some of them come just to hear me play. And I graduated top of my class in my master’s- it’s just- that’s it. 

There’s nothing else going on for me. I’m perfectly comfortable. It’s a good life, it really is. But I’m just not excited about it. I can’t even remember what butterflies in my stomach felt like. In a way, I’m just like the regulars, I’m here every weekend, trying to forget about life for a while.

I am Basilton Pitch. I am the heir of one of the oldest, wealthiest British families. I've been on this earth for 25 years, and nobody’s ever loved me.

Sure, I’ve gone on dates, made out, had sex but I don’t think I’ve ever really been loved. I’ve had two serious relationships and two messy breakups. I have a tendency to be the one who’s madly in love and then it gets too much for them. It always end with me asking questions to the ceiling for endless nights after I’ve been dumped, so I decided to stop trying altogether.

Being alone used to bother me when I was younger, when everyone in grade school or university started pairing up and I didn’t. But after a while, I decided it was for the best.

I’m just finishing _“a thousand years”_ (my choice), when I see Ebb, one of the regulars, walking towards me, the top of her pale blue dress hiding under a darker, satin shawl. She places a coaster and a beer on my piano.

I’ve seen her every Saturday since I’ve been here. She usually sits at the bar, nursing a double whiskey on the rocks. I try not to mingle, but during this time we’ve had a few chats, and she always insists on buying my drinks for me. When my Aunt Fiona is here, they usually sit and converse all night. I think she once mentioned they went to boarding school together.

Of course, I also went to boarding school, with Dev and Niall. It was a good experience, but I always cared too much about school to properly enjoy getting pissed and partying like everyone else did.

Most of the regulars are over forty, and Ebb is no exception. There are a few younger clients, probably my age, but they come and go as they find partners, no longer needing the bar as their security blanket. 

Ebb places a hand on my shoulder, “Rough night, eh?”

I frown and shake my head before replying, “I don’t think so.”

She gives me a smile. She always seems like she’s miles away. “I think rain makes everyone melancholic, Baz.”

“Cheers,” I take a sip of my beer, letting the cold liquid cool my throat, “No, I think I’m just tired, really.”

She shakes her head and gives me an almost motherly smile. Although I doubt I could really recognise one if I saw it. My mother passed away when I was only five. It’s been a while since someone has given me anything remotely close to motherly affection.

“The owner’s son is here.”

I lift one of my eyebrows. I really don’t give a shit if another fresh-out-of-Cambridge brat decided to join this hellhole of a club.

She tilts her head to the side, trying to point at him. I think about ignoring the gesture, but I take a quick look anyway since she’s pinning me down with her piercing blue eyes.

He’s far away, alone at a table in the back corner, making it difficult to see him properly. Fit. Broad shoulders. Bronze, curly hair. He looks around my age, give or take a year or two. Definitely the type of dude who can get girls faster than you can say “let's go out”.  
He's staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows as he fiddles with the knot on his tie. 

“He looks out of place,” I say, as I start randomly playing a few notes of a piece that just came to mind.

She shakes her head as she grins and turns around, leaving me to go back to my reveries. I brush the thoughts of his boring blue eyes out of my head.

_Another Cambridge brat, fresh out of uni, looking for someone to marry, then pop out a litter of blonde, spoiled rascals._

I roll my eyes because I think that’s what Father would have wanted for me. I did go to Oxford, though. I suppose in some ways I am also an overindulged brat. It’s just that I could never give Father the perfect British family. Not in the traditional way that he wants, anyway.

He used to be worse about my queerness when I was still in school but I think after a while he came to terms with it. Sometimes he and my stepmother, Daphne, even ask if I’m bringing someone home for the holidays. 

The answer is always no.

An hour or so later, I’m done with my set and the rain is still coming down hard, so I decide to sit at the bar for a while until it’s safer to leave. Rhys, the bartender smiles as he opens up another beer for me.

He places it on the marble counter, “Are you staying until close tonight?”

I sneer, “I don’t think it’s possible to drive right now,” and then as an afterthought, I add, “I’d be in bed right now on a normal day.”

He scrunches up his nose, “Yeah, you’re telling me,” He grins, “although with how much Davy is paying me, I think I’d need to work five more hours to make ends meet.”

Rhys is your typical blonde, overeager green-eyed uni student. He’s paying his way through school by working a bunch of odd jobs. It's times like this, he’s good company. He’s overall polite, quick with a joke and tends to mind his own business, which is why I like him. It’s also pretty obvious that there is somewhere else he’d rather be. I hope he gets to where he wants to be someday. 

I take a sip and look around. Although it’s late, it’s still crowded, laughter and chatter louder than before, probably due to the number of drinks that have circulated during my set.

The owner’s son is still in the corner, although now Davy is sitting with him. They don’t look like they’re having a good chat, though. He’s flushed, raking his hands through his curls, practically pulling at them every now and then.

I thought those kinds of emotional outbursts weren’t allowed here.

Rhys gestures his head towards them. “He’s going quick with his drinks, that one.”

“That’s Davy’s kid, isn’t it?”

“Mmmhm,” Rhys takes a glass from behind the counter, and starts preparing a Mojito for an old man who’s sitting just to my right, “Yeah, foster kid.”

I don’t say anything as I take another long drink of my beer. “I hear his name is Simon Snow,” Rhys adds as he shakes his head.

I raise an eyebrow at the ridiculous name. “That’s odd. That he’s a foster kid, I mean. He looks like Davy.”

Rhys shrugs as he mushes mint leaves at the bottom of the glass. “I guess so. There’s nothing special about either of them, though. He’s just bringing him here in hopes he finds someone to settle down with.”

I cringe internally and bite my lip, “Yeah, I figured,” I turn to look at this Simon guy, and find him already looking at me.

He’s blatantly staring, his mouth slightly open. Fuck. His tawny skin glows softly under the dim, yellow lights. His blue eyes eagerly go up my body until they find my face. I hold his gaze for a second, then I lift my chin up and sneer. His cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and then he looks down at this glass, fiddling with his tie again. I know the intimidating, I’m-richer-than-you dance too well.

I don’t look at him again.

I hate the way my heart started racing when I caught him staring. I hate the way he reminds me of someone I once loved.

*-*-*

I’m putting my coat on downstairs, after waiting almost an hour for the rain to let up. A petite woman opens the door to the street, and stands in the doorway as she fumbles in her Chanel purse for her car keys, and the cold air rushes in through the small lobby. That's when I spot him. Alone, standing under a lamppost, probably waiting for the valet to bring his car around. 

I step out and hand my ticket to the valet. Simon Snow whips his head around so fast, it wouldn’t be surprising if he tore a muscle. I ignore him as I place a smoke between my lips, although it’s still raining softly.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to shiver. I hate that I’m always unreasonably cold. The hot smoke makes my chest feel warmer.

I notice his top button is popped open and his blue tie is now wrapped around his fist. Definitely not used to suits and the like, then. Now that I’m seeing him up close, his tawny skin is splattered with freckles and moles, and for a split second, I imagine myself kissing the one on his left cheek, just under his eye.

He’s fumbling with his phone, still leaning against the lamppost. I think he’s too pissed to stand upright on his own. A car pulls up, disturbing the quietness and parks right at the curb. Snow looks at it, then back at his phone. Before he climbs into the car, he gives me one last look.

An uber, I think. I can’t help the strange feeling in my stomach as he’s still staring through the window at me, smiling faintly as the driver takes him away from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m back with another story! I wrote this as a result of me listening to _“Piano man”_ on a loop on a gloomy day after uni.  
>  _It was one of those days…and I wondered if I felt in a way stuck (in life) like the song describes…and so this was born._
> 
> Huge thanks to the legends @WO2Ash and @PerfectLittleKing who took time out of their lives to beta this (and madee it readable)! THANK YOU!!!  
>  **If you like this feel free to leave kudos/drop a comment <3 because they make this human so happy! **


	2. What are you doing here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He nods, “Oh. I get it. Name’s Simon, by the way. Simon Snow,” He extends his arm towards me and years of character education and enforced politeness make me shake his hand.
> 
> “Basilton Pitch,”
> 
> His eyes never leave my face as he says, “I like your name,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing art on:  
> https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/
> 
>  
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who did a fantastic job of beta-ing this chapter! <3 <3 Make sure to check out her fic, [ Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271)  
> (It’s one of my favourite one-shots ever!):

##### Baz

When Monday comes around, I’m still restless.

I keep telling myself I’m too old to have these kinds of schoolboy crushes. And then the other half of me keeps telling me it’s been a while since I’ve felt like this, so I might as well try to at least enjoy the high I get from thinking about him.

He’s probably straight, anyway. Even if he wasn’t, he’s still the owner’s son. Davy is an ex-marine who’s obsessed with the idea that war is what the world needs for every single terrible thing that happens daily to change, and talks mostly about politics to everyone. I don’t think I’ve ever had a full conversation with him. Not that I care, really.

No one knows much about his personal life. Up until three days ago, I was sure he never even had time for a wife and a kid. A kid that is around my age, has a soft smile and the prettiest freckled skin I’ve ever seen.

A bloke who’s fit enough to get you to think about him while you’re doing your shopping at bloody Tesco’s just because he stared at you across a room full of people. Just because he decided to. Just because he can.

“Mate, seriously, we’ve been here for hours,”

I roll my eyes at Dev. We do our shopping together during the week since we’re practically neighbours (our grandparents own the building our flats are in). It’s something we used to do at Uni while we got used to the whole shopping-for-one-person thing, and it just stuck.

“I’m almost done,”

He takes a look at my shopping trolley and raises both eyebrows. It’s almost empty, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ve been staring at the bloody pasta for a good five minutes now,” he continues as I grab my favourite pack of ravioli and toss it in the shopping trolley.

“How are things with your girl, anyway?”

He shrugs, “Pretty good. Since the engagement, it’s like we’re in the honeymoon phase again,”

I grin, “You’ve never left that phase,” 

Niall and I know damn well they’re all over each other (in a good way) all the time. It’s a good fit. Danna is soft and a generally compassionate, nice person. It contrasts perfectly with Dev’s personality.

His grin is even bigger, “Yeah. I mean, it’s hard sometimes, but mostly it’s good.”

I shrug. I try to avoid that gesture as much as I can because I think it’s just idiotic, but I just can’t think of anything to say back.

Dev pats my back, “I keep thinking your time is near,” 

I flinch. I hate it when people who know you’ve been single for a while insist you’ll find ‘the one’ eventually. Because it doesn't work like that. I don’t see any future where someone could stand me for the rest of their lives.

“My time of death?” I lift both eyebrows at him again, “I’d hope so,”

He rolls his eyes, “No. You know what I mean,”

“It’s all shit, Dev.” He shakes his head. He’s a stubborn man, but we’ve had this exact same conversation so many times before, he knows it’s better to not insist. 

“You’re incorrigible.”

There’s a small part of me that tells me I know perfectly well that I’d weep if I ever found someone to share my life with. I shut it down quickly with memories of heartbreak and anniversaries where I’d been the only one to remember.

-

The next time I see Simon Snow, he’s sitting at the same table, completely pissed. It’s only the beginning of my set and he’s already drunk enough to be flushed. His tie has now come off, but he’s still stunning. I think he’d be stunning in anything.

##### Simon 

I hate this place so much. I could probably be at home having a couple of beers with one of my friends or hanging out in the park with my fluffy dog, _Muppet_. Instead, I’m here just to avoid pissing off Davy. I mean, the Club is nice, and the drinks are really nice to try instead of my usual brew, but it’s just not my thing.

He insists I need to start socialising with “our people” since I’m supposed to inherit the Club when he passes. I’ve already told him I won’t. I love my career, and although the course I chose to study got me kicked out of his house, we somehow mended our relationship in the past year.

I’m much more of a stay at home or go to a local pub kind of bloke, and honestly, it’d be even more awful to be here if it wasn’t for the piano bloke.

Only his profile is visible to me from where I’m sitting, but it’s just enough. His black hair is long – just how I like it- and slicked back. His nose is long and a little crooked at the tip, like someone punched him there, although if you ask me, he looks like he’s too posh to get into fistfights. 

Tonight, he’s wearing a burgundy suit and he looks just lovely in it. Since I first sat here last week, I noticed his long, slim frame and how nicely his shoulders move when he’s playing a fast song.

Piano music has never been interesting for me, but coincidentally this week I listened to a ton of classical music playlists on Spotify. Penny says I’m being an idiot. She’s the manager and works here to pay her way through Grad school. 

Her parents still help her with money, I think. Now that she’s living with Micah, I still see her two or three times a week to catch up. We met when we were twelve and we’ve been best friends ever since the first time we spoke. I think Davy was kind of hoping we’d end up dating, but once Micah came into the picture, it was pretty clear it wouldn’t happen.

Penny is beautiful, but she’s not my type. I don’t think we ever saw each other as more than friends, not even after the time we kissed in a truth or dare back in secondary school. We just laughed about it and moved on. 

During my twenty-four years, I’ve dated two women, and more recently, a man too. I don’t think Penny was surprised when I told her I was into guys too. 

She shrugged and said, “Yeah, I think we all knew,”

Micah nodded and patted my shoulder, “Yeah. I mean, it makes sense. Good for you, dude.”

I think the only one who was surprised was me. I’m still trying to figure out what I am, but I don’t think it’s necessary to label myself as anything right now because it’s still new, and I want to get to know more people before I decide on something. Before I actually have to tell Davy. 

I don’t even know why he adopted me in the first place because he’s never once been affectionate. I mean, yeah. He gave me a place to stay and food from eleven to nineteen, but that was it. After he came back from war, he decided to do something for charity, I guess. So, he took me in, dressed me in nice clothes and sent me to a private school, where Penny and I met.

I think he secretly wants me to marry someone already, but that’s just not where my heart is at the moment. Not in the way he’d want, anyway.

My heart is currently racing as the piano bloke is doing a faster song now. His hair is falling around his face like a curtain, and his eyebrows are all scrunched up together. There’s so much happening on his face in contrast to his straight back and squared shoulders.

I love the way his body seems to be static from afar, but if you stare, you can see the movement of his hands and his leg as he plays and holds down the pedals from time to time. I didn’t know someone could be this interesting to look at.

Anyway, Penny says I’m being an idiot because she’s worked with him for over a year and he’s never spoken more than a couple of words to her. 

She told me his name is Basilton, which already makes me think he doesn’t only look posh, he actually is. Apparently, he’s very reserved and never bothers with casual conversation. I try to think about how I can get him to talk to me, just to at least get him to know I exist, but I honestly can’t find an excuse.

##### Baz 

I’m in the middle of playing _”Fly me to the moon”_ , one of the crowd’s favourites when the manager, Penelope, places a tall glass filled with a colorful drink on top of my piano. I raise an eyebrow.

The only person who buys my drinks is Ebb, and she’s not here tonight. She places a thick card next to it, nods at me as I mumble a weak “thank you”, and leaves.

I force myself to play one more song after this one before I can check it. I don’t want to seem desperate, and I’m bracing myself for the disappointment of knowing that whoever bought me a drink is not who _I_ want.

I finish playing one of my all-time favourites, _“Vienna”_ , take a deep breath and find the Snow guy leaning back on his seat, looking at me. I sneer at him. Fine then, I won’t check it now.

The crushed ice is halfway melted when I notice he’s gone. Quickly, I take the card and place it over the piano keys as I open it carefully, almost as if it was cursed.

_I really like the music here. -SS_

What the fuck is this even supposed to mean? Thanks, I guess. If I’m not mistaken, he’s the one who sent me this, and as I sip on it, I can’t help but love the taste of strawberries and gin. Such an odd choice, and if I didn’t know who sent it, I’d be even more mortified, because almost no one knows about my sweet tooth.

Sure, beer is great, but I have a weak spot for sugary drinks. Lattes, cappuccinos, milkshakes…Even regular soda. I know they’re not good for your health, and I try to avoid them as much as possible, but I can’t help but indulge every now and then.

I’m almost dizzy with both the drink and the idea that he sent it, so I take the glass and decide to go up to the roof for a breath of air before I head home. God, I _am_ attention starved. My set was finished, anyway.

I clock out on the old fingerprint machine and follow the marble staircase until I’m up and out on the roof. It’s nice here if you have a date. More private. It’s more of a rooftop garden, with rose bushes, peonies and all kinds of beautiful pink flowers around and in-between small wooden benches. There’s even a couple of swings, I think.

During the night, there are fairy lights faintly illuminating the atmosphere. Thankfully, it’s not rainy tonight, and although it’s cold, it’s nice to watch the city from above.

There’s a couple of people sitting on the benches between the bushes, but I barely look at them as I head straight to the metal railing. Back when I was a teenager, I used to come here when Father would force me to come to weddings and the like, and I’d just think about how I wanted to move out and live a different life from what was set out for me. Sometimes I’d even get pissed with my friends with wine we’d steal from the party.

Look at me now. I guess my life is different from my family’s, but at the same time, I’m still here, ten years later. Still pining over someone…still a hopeless romantic. I guess a very cautious one, but still.

I feel someone approaching me, and I resist the urge to turn around. I close my eyes and pray to whoever’s up there, that they’re who I want them to be.

He rests a freckled hand next to mine on the cold railing and clears his throat.

“I like your hands,”

I feel my stomach drop to the floor. What an odd thing to say to someone you’ve never met.

I look at him and lift an eyebrow. He’s flushed and running his other hand through his curls, “I mean, yeah. What you do with them. I like the piano. I like how you look so into it when you’re playing,”

I exhale and turn my body towards him. I’ve received so many compliments over the length of my musical career, some even coming from experts and recognised musicians, and I somehow don’t think they would top his.

I tip my glass at him and take a sip from the thin straw. “Thanks, that’s odd but nice to hear.”

His flush is even deeper now, and I can tell he’s scrambling for something to say.

I won’t let him. “If you’ll excuse me, I was enjoying the peace from up here,”

I start to turn away from him, but then I see the look of confidence on his face falter and I stop and stare. He’s so fit and soft. He’s barely spoken a few words to me and I’ve already memorised the tone of his voice so I can replay it in my head.

He gives me a dazzling grin and tries again, “Yeah. I mean. I’ve heard piano music before, but I don’t think I’ve ever stopped to enjoy it,”

I nod, “Yeah. It takes listening to the right pieces for one to love it,”

“You do it for a living? Because mate, what are you doing here?”

Mate. _Mate._ Mate. Clearly, he’s looking for a friendship and I’ve already managed to misread the situation in under ten minutes.

“No. I mean, yes. I studied it professionally, but I don’t play for a living.”

He leans in a little closer, and I don’t know if it’s because he can’t hear me over the soft jazz music playing up here or for a different reason. I take a tiny step back.

He rubs the back of his neck and fiddles the button on his jacket, “You should be at the Royal Albert Hall,”

I can’t help but chuckle, “I’ve played there before. Six times.”

He looks genuinely impressed, so much so, that his eyebrows shoot up, “Alone?”

He’s so pretty with his mouth hanging open like that. I fiddle with my straw, “Mhmm. Twice. The rest I’ve played with an orchestra,”

“You’re so talented. You should do that for a living,”

I shake my head, “I didn’t want the thing I love the most in the world to become a monotonous job,”

He nods, “Oh. I get it. Name’s Simon, by the way. Simon Snow,” He extends his arm towards me and years of character education and enforced politeness make me shake his hand.

“Basilton Pitch,”

His eyes never leave my face as he says, “I like your name,”

He's either playing dumb or literally has been living under a rock because well… The Pitches are known. People know our name and before they've even met us, they've already formed an idea of us in their heads. It's moronic. 

I take a long sip of my drink. “Yeah. Thanks. Yours is not terrible, either.”

It is. Of course, it is. Who names their child “Snow”? I wonder if he realises how close to flirting this whole interaction has been.

He doesn’t say anything, so I take it as my cue to leave. “Well, Snow. If you'll excuse me, I still have to drive home and I am exhausted.”

He nods at me and smiles again, his eyes meeting mine. “Yeah. I’m heading home, too.”

I don’t give him a last glance as I weakly say, “See you around,”

I turn and start walking toward the stairs when I hear him again, “Baz?”

Who does he think he is?

I stop but I barely turn my head to look at him, “Yeah?” He’s looking down, suddenly interested in his black dress shoes.

“We should hang out sometime,”

My heart starts hammering in my chest, following a steady, quick rhythm as my breath catches. _Is he…?_ No. He probably means as a mate. We could watch a game or something, I guess.

“Yes. Sounds good to me.”

He looks up, and his smile could light up the whole sky. He’s the sun and I’m flying dangerously close to it.

As a last thought, I add, “I’ll see you next weekend.”

I don’t wait to hear his reply.

I only allow myself to breathe out once I’m sitting in the safety of my car, my stomach still filled with a sensation it hasn’t felt for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m officially done with the semester at Uni, so that means more regular posting :)) I’m going to try to do two chapters a week now that I have more free time! I’m so glad you’re liking this story, and I promise It’s going to get fluffier from now on!
> 
> My Tumblr (I post snowbaz stuff along with any other posts that make me smile):
> 
> alivealivealive.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> **If you liked this drop me a kudos/comment <3 because they make this human so happy!**


	3. Sing us a song tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you like the sea?”, I hate myself. So lame, so eternally lame.
> 
> “Yeah. I mean, I never went to the sea when I was growing up. And I like taking long walks around the beach with-“
> 
> Here it is. The dealbreaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/) (omg! The second chapter just dropped): 
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 Make sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s one of my favourite one-shots ever!)(she's a terrific writer):

##### Simon

The next Saturday morning, I’m buzzing with excitement about seeing Baz. I mean, I don’t actually know If we’re doing the hang out thing today, but he did say he’d see me next week, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

In hindsight, I probably should have asked him for his number, but the way he seemed to be closing off made me think he’d just sneer at me and leave, so I didn’t. I’m hoping to get it today, though. I’m fixing my hair in Penny’s living room as Micah and her are on their couch going over wedding invitation samples.

Micah clears his throat. I look at him as he raises one of his perfect eyebrows at me, “Going to see someone?”

I pretend to be surprised, “Huh? No, I’m just off to the Club with Davy,”

Penny shoots him a look, “Si, don’t,”

“I’m not doing anything,”

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest like a pissed off mum, “You’re actually parting your hair.”

I raise both eyebrows and continue putting gel on it, trying to make it look tamer. I honestly need a good haircut.

“So what?” I drop the comb on the console table. “I’m just bored with my hair,”

She giggles, and then Micah follows. I hate them. They know me so well; they’ve pretty much figured everything out already. I’m also incredibly transparent, so it’s no use to try and hide things from them.

“Besides, shouldn’t you be working tonight?”

Penny shakes her head and wraps her arms around Micah. Since he finally moved from America, they’ve really wasted no time in making up for all of the years they lived apart.

“I’m on holiday, remember?”

I grab my jacket and put it on and then I check my pockets for my keys and wallet.

“Yeah. Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Don’t get in too late, you rascal,” Micah says, faking a stern voice. He insists on taking the piss by using British words that just sound weird with his accent, but it’s actually funny.

I don’t really live here. I crash on their sofa during Saturdays because my home is not actually in London, and it’s just easier to sleep here since Davy has been making me go to his Club. On Sundays, I grab my backpack and my garment bag, hop on a train and go back home.

I think that’d be a problem if I actually dated Baz, because I’m fairly sure he’s a Londoner. Probably. He looks like he lives in Kensington or Chelsea. I shake my head as I close the front door behind me. I’m already thinking about distance issues and the bloke hasn’t even shown interest in me.

Typical.

Davy picks me up and the car ride is terribly awkward as he keeps asking if I’ve seen someone I like at the Club and tries to give me advice. It actually makes me want to gag a little.

I lean my head against the window and sigh.

He already called the veterinary hospital I work at a “shop” twice and offered me a job at the Club once, and we’re not even five minutes in.

I really don’t know what’s the point of our relationship anymore.

##### Baz

This is a special night because next Sunday is Christmas Eve, which means Agatha, a pretty and sweet psychology major comes in and sings with me. I’ve known her for a while, actually. We went to Oxford together, but she’s saving up to move to America. She wants to be near the ocean. Start over where no one knows her name or wants to marry her into another wealthy family. I’m happy she has the balls to go through with it.

Sometimes, when I’m knee deep in backbreaking work, I close my eyes and imagine taking a year off to travel the world. Or move near the coast, away from all the buzz of the city. I never gave myself the time to do anything other than studying.

I finished grade school, and went straight to university. Graduated in four years, and that same fall I started on my Master’s. After I was done with it, three months later, I was starting my phD. It’s been nonstop for years, and I hate to admit that I’ve practically given up on doing the things I love the most for Academia. To satisfy the idea that success is going to make me happy, when it clearly hasn’t.

Aggie and I have actually become quite fond of each other. Sometimes we sit in the staff room and laugh at the customers antics. Our story is amusing, actually. At first, she had a crush on me (she admitted to this), and then we had a chat and cleared things up, and since then, we’ve been good friends.

Anyway, she’s only here around special occasions, holidays, weddings and the like and our set today is completely rehearsed, so there are no requests today. It’s a welcome distraction and working with someone is a nice change from the usual. Her voice is angelic and soft, but she can hit the high notes effortlessly. It’s a perfect accompaniment for my piano.

I know Snow’s here, I’ve seen him, but I’m doing my best to ignore him. To pretend that our conversation from last weekend didn’t happen. He’s making it difficult. He’s already sent me a glass of rosé, and I’m a disappointment to myself for drinking it and blushing about the fact that he’s clearly watching my every move.

I'm embarrassed to admit that it took me longer to pick out my suit than it usually does, taking particular care with how my hair looked. I know the odds of us talking again are low, and having Davy hanging around makes it even harder, but I can't help but feel slightly hopeful... about what? 

I don’t know, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to let go of this mess of a human just yet.

At the end of our set, we perform a cover of _“Don’t look back in anger”_ , and apparently people here love Oasis, because I can tell how everyone goes completely quiet and is actually paying attention to the music. It’s not difficult to play, I think the vocal part is the hardest, but Aggie pushes on and her sound is breathtaking.

I brave a look to my right, and sure enough, Snow is mouthing the words as his right hand is in a fist over his heart. Lovely. I think even I am quietly singing the words, too. His eyes meet mine and he keeps singing, almost to me _“my soul slides away, but don’t look back in anger…”_

I can’t help but smile as I return my eyes to the keys, and then to Agatha.

_…at least not today._

I press one last key, and the room erupts in polite claps and the occasional scream from a drunk customer. I snort, bow my head and follow Aggie into the staff room. As I am taking a drink of water, Davy comes in.

He claps my shoulder and kisses Agatha’s cheek. “That was good. I think more and more people are coming here just to see you,” he points at me, and then turns to look at her, “But tonight was even better.”

She smiles politely and looks at me, but Davy continues, “My son is here tonight, and I think you should meet him,”

For a moment I think he’s talking to me, but then I quickly realise he’s obviously meant it for Agatha.

She gives him a polite smile, “Sure, yes.”

I’m jealous of her blonde hair and her delicate frame, just for a quick second, truly. I know she’s not even into anyone at this moment in her life and I roll my eyes at myself. I don’t want to be here when he introduces her, so I decide to leave now. I’m exhausted, anyway.

 

I excuse myself and head out, wrapping my black coat around myself. There’s a slight drizzle now, but it was raining heavily earlier. I look around and find myself surprised that Snow’s here, leaning against the same lamppost as the first night I met him. I thought he was still at his table.

Of fucking course. I wish he’d just drop it, but he walks towards me, smiling like a giant puppy and I can’t help it but let my lips curl into a small smile.

“Ready to head out?”

I frown, “Pardon?”

His smile falters, but he nods, “You said yes. To hanging out, I mean,”

“I meant it vaguely, not next week at midnight,“ I say, dismissing him and searching my coat for my valet ticket.

“Yeah. You said, and I quote you ‘see you next weekend’, so, want to grab a bite?”

I roll my eyes and breathe out. It’s both mortifying and sweet that he actually remembers my exact words.

I yawn for emphasis, “Snow, it’s actually midnight. I’m sure you’re as tired as I am.”

He runs a hand through his curls, messing up the parting. This beautiful oaf.

“Yeah, but you must be hungry,”

I concede as I hand my ticket to the valet, “That I am,” I shake my head, “Okay, let’s get something to eat. And then you’ll be on your merry way home, okay?”

How bad can it actually be? In the worst-case scenario, I get him to talk about his pretty girlfriend or something. Then I’ll know and get over him.

He nods, “Yeah. I’m down,”

Once we’re in my car, my heart starts racing with the endless possibilities this night is offering. I mean, I _was_ tired, but I’ve been going to bed so late this week, grading papers, that I don’t think I could actually sleep right now if I tried.

I start the engine, and immediately he starts asking questions. I wanted to get to know him, anyway, so I guess it works out. He asks about where I live, and then a little about my family. Then, it’s my turn.

“So, Snow. Oxford or Cambridge?” I ask as we stop at a red light.

He huffs, “What? Neither. Couldn’t afford them,” he chuckles, the sound making my cheeks warm, “Couldn’t get in, either,”

Immediately, I feel ashamed for even assuming he went there like I did, but it’s just logical. I mean, Davy is pretty well off, and that’s his only son, so it’d make sense. Besides, he seems smart, even if he’s not well spoken.

He shifts so now he’s leaning on the car door, watching me intently. The streetlights are dancing in his face, giving it some dimension in the dark, “I, uh, got out of Uni just last year. I had to work for a bit before I could afford school,”

I graduated from Uni three years ago. Only because I was fortunate enough to get in my first try, and then I did my best to take as many credits as possible each semester.

I glance at him, “But Davy didn’t pay for it or…?”

He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. I force myself to focus on the road as I take a right, “No, he kicked me out. He wanted me to be an accountant or something posh like that. And I couldn’t,”

My heart aches for him already, picturing him having to choose between his only family and doing what he loved, and I realise how lucky I’ve been, with parents who’ve supported me even when I didn’t deserve it.

I can’t help the wobble in my voice, “Simon,”

“S’fine, really. It’s all in the past.”

I stop the Jag outside the shop I’m planning to buy us dinner at, “How did you get through it, alone?”

“I had my best friend, Penny to share a flat with, so it made it cheaper. I was a bouncer, and worked in a flower shop,” He shrugs, his smile returning again, “I guess I also ate a lot of porridge and ramen,”

I shake my head and turn around in my seat to look at him. We’re so quiet, that the rain hitting furiously on the roof is the only sound for a moment. “I’m sorry I thought you had everything handed to you,” I clear my throat, and quietly I add, “as I did.”

He places his hand on top of mine on the armrest and I have to refrain myself from jumping. “S’okay. I guess Davy is loaded, right? It’d make sense that I would be like him.”

“Yeah.” The knot in my throat is getting bigger by the minute, and I’m afraid I’ll cry of shame, or compassion in front of him, so I slide my hand out from under his and grab my wallet, “Wait here, I’ll get us something okay?”

He shoves his card at me, “Here. Pay for mine, the pin…”

I cut him off and hold his gaze, almost angry that he’d be irresponsible like this, giving a stranger his pin number, “Snow. Don’t do that ever again.”

“But, I, uh,”

I climb out of the car, and before I close the door, I say, “I got this. And I meant it, don’t do that.”

How trusting and naive can he actually be? Yeah, he might be sitting in a year-old Jaguar, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be a scammer or something like that.

I head inside the shop and order us both a Salted beef bagel. I order him a doughnut, and then, because I don’t know what he likes for dessert, I buy a couple of sour cherry scones. I remember my mum used to be fond of them.

Clearly, I can’t make up for all of those years he lived on junk food, but I can make sure he goes to bed with a full belly tonight.

-

##### Simon 

We’re outside his flat, and I’m not even surprised we’re in bloody Kensington. I think I’ve been here once before, during a flower delivery for Ebb. I figured it out on the way back from the bagel shop. Surprisingly, the conversation was smooth, and although it was mostly about trivial stuff, I find everything that leaves his mouth entertaining.

His building is posh and very close to Holland Park, and although there are only six stories in total, there’s an elevator.

I feel so out of place now, that I start to wonder why I thought it was a good idea to chat up a bloke who looked this posh. I mean, yeah. I was expecting it, but I’m still surprised as he opens the door and lets me in first. It’s gigantic, really. There are all sorts of lamps and rugs, and the windows take up a whole wall, surrounded by heavy, thick curtains.

I hear his keys, and then he walks around me. My feet seem to be glued to the carpet as he starts taking off his dress shoes. “I-this-“

He lifts one of his bloody eyebrows at me, “Use your words, Snow,”

“Basil,”

“Yeah?”

I lean down to untie my shoelaces. I notice he’s still watching me, as I look up to speak, “You live here?”

He nods, “I’ve lived here for a couple of years. My grandparents own the building,”

“Oh,”

I don’t think we’d be a good match. I don’t even think I could actually take him home to my flat because it’s tiny, cramped and the only decorations are a couple of photos from my Uni graduation ceremony and the trip Penny and I took to America. Surely, he’d expect expensive gifts and trips and whatnot, and I can only give him…well, myself.

“Come on, Snow. Let’s just eat. I’ve seen you sniff the bag twice already,”

I flush because it’s true, “I didn’t, I swear!”

He giggles, and it’s such a pretty sound that puts all of his years of piano training to shame. He’s so fit, it makes me throw my hesitation out the window because after all, he brought me here.

##### Baz 

We’re sitting on the floor with our backs to the couch. Somehow, although there’s a couple of sofas and a dining table we could eat on, I always prefer sitting cross-legged on the floor. I like the way Simon has opened up to me, bit by bit over the couple of hours we’ve been together.

I mean, doing stuff together, not actually together.

I’m pleased with myself that I bought all that extra dessert because his eyes got really wide and he scarfed down one after another. It’s like watching a wild dog having a meal. Normally, I’d be appalled to see someone eat so carelessly, but If anything, I was overjoyed.

He’s now telling me about his work. The conversation flows smoothly, and surprisingly, it doesn’t make any of us uncomfortable to talk about what we do. I tell him about my PhD and the university lessons I teach as my actual dayjob. 

He raises both eyebrows and lets out a low whistle, “So you’re smart, smart? Like Academia smart, huh?”

I shrug, an habit that seems to be convenient when I can’t find the right words, “My knowledge is only deep on my field, yes.”

He gives me wicked grin, “Professor and researcher by day, piano man by night,” I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Not about my work, but about the way it sounds when it’s said like that, “Has a nice ring to it,”

I shake my head, “You’re killing me,”

I finally ask him about himself. He’s much more interesting. He’s 24 and a vet, and I think that’s just lovely and fitting for him, with his big hands and soft personality. I rather like it.

“I work in Brighton, uh, that’s where home is. And I do odd jobs sometimes, here and there when the money is tight,”

I nod, “It’s a nice place to live in,” I’ve been a couple of times, and I’ve always thought it's quite charming.

“Yeah, and I got the offer and moved there because I wanted to be close to the sea,” he shrugs, “and Pen got engaged, so I guess it was time to move out, anyway.”

I lean back, letting myself finally slouch for the first time tonight. The light is dim, only a couple of lamps are on to make this flat seem warmer and homey. I like the way he looks in the semi-darkness.

“Do you like the sea?”, I hate myself. So lame, so eternally lame.

“Yeah. I mean, I never went to the sea when I was growing up. And I like taking long walks around the beach with-“

Here it is. The dealbreaker.

“Your girlfriend?”

He frowns, “No. I, we broke up a long time ago. Like three years ago or something,” He turns to look at me. It’s a little unnerving, “I go with Muppet. You dating someone?”

So articulate, Snow. “Not that is any of your business, but no. I don’t do that anymore,”

His face falls, “Dating? Why?”

I wave a hand dismissively, like I’m talking about tomorrow’s weather and not my horrible love life, “Not my scene, I believe.”

He’s shaking his legs uncoordinatedly. His jacket lays discarded on my sofa, and his forearms are exposed because he rolled his shirtsleeves up. There’s a constellation of moles dusting his tawny arms. I can’t look away.

We’ve finished eating a while ago, and I don’t want him to go, but I don’t want to be needy. So, I keep stalling, asking him more questions. He tells me about growing up in care homes, fistfights and bad Christmases. It makes me feel terrible for assuming all the wrong things about him.

And it makes my urge to protect him from this world considerably larger.

I tell him about my cousin, who lives downstairs, and a little about my work, but I save my mother’s passing and the reason I play for myself. I glance at my wristwatch. It’s three A.M. already.

He notices and clicks his tongue, “I really should get going. You’re tired. I’m sorry I kept you up for so long,”

“No problem. I was the one asking questions,”

He stays seated in his spot. I lean back and stretch my legs, placing my left hand between us to support me. Slowly, with my eyes, I follow his hand as it approaches mine. He drums his fingers over the back once, twice. I think he’s waiting for me to snatch it away. I don’t.

He finally takes it, turning my palm up and holds it. I squeeze a little. The warmth of his skin feels fantastic. His touch is so gentle, it reminds me of the way I used to be held by my mother when I was a child.

Okay, Basil. This is just a one-time thing. I’ll let myself have this and then I’ll pull back and get myself out of this situation.

I think he’s going to go for a kiss, but he doesn’t. He just smiles shyly at me and holds my gaze with ordinary blue eyes and it’s just enough for my chest to feel tight. Gorgeous.

“I like how your hand feels,”

I flush all the way to my ears. “I’m starting to see a pattern there, Snow.”

He juts his chin out, “And what about it?”

I love his nonchalant attitude. And I love his warm, stubby hands too. And I love his short lashes and that mole on his neck that I’d treat as a target if I could have this.

After a second or two, he drops my hand, gets up and then offers it again. I take it as I get up and he laces our fingers together. It’s electric, the way I can feel his warmth even in my stomach.

“I really should go now, I’m crashing at Penny’s tonight,”

I nod. I wish I could offer him a ride, but that’d be too much like a date. “You should come down.” He wrinkles his freckled nose, “Next Friday. To Brighton, yeah.”

I hate him for inviting me to his place. And I’m a disappointment to myself for seriously considering his offer. “I’ll consider it.”

He nods eagerly, his perfectly parted curls shaking a little with his head, “Text me, yeah.”

He made me punch my number into his old iPhone, and I thought about giving him a fake one, but since he’s already seen where I live, it’d be moot, anyway.

He’s still holding my hand, and I’m still not letting go of it now that we’re in the entryway. With my free hand, I open the door for him. Finally, he runs his thumb on the back of my hand one last time and drops it.

He’s left me so cold.

I have a fleeting urge to grab both of his cheeks, lean my head down and kiss him goodbye against the old cedar wood door. He’d say “Goodnight, love.”

And I’d say, “Be safe, darling.” Or maybe he’d just stay over, and we’d cuddle all night and watch the rain fall down hard from the safety of my bed.

But that’s not what happens. He hesitates too, and then because I’m weak, I go down with him until we’re at the entrance of the building. He’s outside now, calling an Uber while I wait for him.

He fans his bloody lashes at me, “See you. Hopefully next Friday, yeah?”

I smile softly, “I’ll let you know,”

“Basil,”

I hate that he calls me Basil because only Fiona does and it’s just a little embarrassing.

He is standing on the step outside, making him even shorter than me. He leans in and I turn my head to the side, because I don’t want him to kiss me (Of course I do. But that’d just be a catastrophe), but to my surprise, he only kisses my cheek gently. I feel goosebumps on my skin and my breath catches. Still near my ear, he whispers, “S’alright, I wasn’t-“

I lean back to look at him. He’s scarlet red, so I put him out of his misery. “I know,”

Soon enough, he’s climbing in the back of an Uber, and then he’s giving me a dopey smile through the window, just like the first night we ever met.

There’s so much we’d need to talk about before we could even think about this working. Davy, for example, but for right now, I think this is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of us have never been 25 and played the piano to make life bearable while crushing on a curly haired vet and it shows.
> 
> Drop a comment/kudos if you like this story!!! <3<3
> 
> I'm sitting on another finished chapter for this story and I'm DYING to post it!!!
> 
> My [tumblr!](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/) (I follow back)


	4. As the smile ran away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That ship sailed ages ago, though,”
> 
> He hangs his head, and chokes out a small, “Noted.”
> 
> I reach my hand forward tentatively, and to my surprise, he takes it, stumbling towards me. “Do you get what I mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/) (omg! The second chapter just dropped): 
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 Make sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s one of my favourite one-shots ever!)(she's a terrific writer)

##### Baz

I feel like a proper fool as I sit at the piano and see Snow out of the corner of my eye sharing his table with a red-haired woman, chatting and laughing like they’re the only ones in the room.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, thanking myself for replying vaguely to his texts this week about visiting him. I school my face back to casual boredom, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

Thank Christ it ends here.

I start playing Chopin’s nocturnes to match my mood and try to mute everyone around me tonight. I’m just doing this Friday show and then I’ll be on my way home to see my family for the holidays.

I don’t even know why I’m worked up about this. He never expressed romantic interest in me, yet I still went ahead and got my hopes up. (I mean, we held hands for a bit. But maybe he’s like that with his friends.)

Halfway through my fourth piece, I brave a look at him. The girl is holding up her drink to his pretty mouth, and he’s eagerly taking a sip, his warm hand over hers. I hate what it does to my stomach.

Maybe I thought he’d be the one I had been waiting for. Surely not. That can’t exist.

My set is a blur, and I let my hands do the work after glancing at whatever people are requesting tonight. I can hear my tempo is a bit off at times, but no one except myself seems to notice. By the end of the night, the number of cards placed on top of my piano tells me the Club is packed. I must have played at least twenty different songs.

I didn’t even touch the beer that was sent to me over an hour ago. It was brought by someone in the temporal staff and I just nodded.

I finish playing a crowd-pleaser, _“Tiny Dancer,”_ and then I get up amid the applause and leave the card my beer came with on the piano and head to the staff room just for a second.

It’s minuscule. There are only a couple of sofas and a centre table. A few lockers line the walls. There's also a water dispenser and a coffee machine. It’s quiet and warm in here, so I sit on one of the worn leather sofas and lean my head back. I don’t normally hang around here, but tonight I’m feeling completely drained. But even If I laid down, I don’t think I could actually sleep.

Perhaps I could make the drive tonight up to Hampshire. My belongings are already neatly packed and seeing my siblings would certainly lift my mood. There’s nothing keeping me in London for the break anyway.

I can’t help but facepalm myself as I notice the feeling of emptiness returning to my stomach. I had been excited about Snow for nearly a month now, and even if I knew it would probably annihilate me when it ended, I had thought about giving him a chance.

It’s a shame it ended this way. Before it even started. In my mouth, bitterness is all I taste.

I hear the door opening, and I don’t bother to look up. I’ll be gone in a couple of minutes, anyway.

##### Simon 

I’m frantic to talk to Baz. He didn’t look at me tonight, not even once. He didn’t accept the drink I got him nor read the note. I could tell by the way his lip was quivering that he just wasn’t his usual self tonight. He wasn’t as composed and confident as he usually is.

I mean, he probably saw me talking to Philippa, but she only came here with me tonight because her parents went to school with Davy. I guess it was sort of like a blind date, and I had fun, but we mostly chatted about the guy she’s secretly dating, and then I told her a bit about Baz.

I can’t deny she’s pretty and entertaining, with all of her cooking stories -she’s a chef- and maybe if I wasn’t so obsessed with Baz, I would have made the effort to really care, but since he’s all I can think about since the second I saw him that rainy Saturday, our date was practically an advice session on how to get to him. I guess sharing a drink with her is better than drinking alone, though.

I go outside to the car valet, but he isn’t here, so I go back, defeated. As I'm leaning against the bar, out of sheer luck, I manage to catch a glimpse of his black hair going through one of the doors at the back, near the toilets. I hate myself for using my privilege as the owner’s adoptive son and open it.

Thank God he’s here, his pretty hair draped on the back of the sofa. His arms are wrapped around himself and the light from the yellow light bulb is making his olive skin glow.

I close the door behind me, but I stay there on the entrance, unable to do anything but stare. He’s so fit.

But that’s not the only thing that draws me to Baz. It’s the way his grey eyes look at me, and how passionate he is about piano and his career. The movement of his hands as he loses himself in the music. I can almost imagine how rhythmic his kissing must be if the way he carries himself is an indicator.

I clear my throat. Baz opens his eyes and looks at me, the sneer on his face already present.

“Looking for something, Snow?”

“I, Uh-no,”

He runs a hair through his hair and looks at the door behind me. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you, you weren’t outside,” I babble, because I don’t know what I expected.

“You shouldn’t be here, this is an employee-only area, so,” he stands up and straightens his jacket.

“Are you coming tomorrow?”

He sneers, “Coming where? I’m going home to see my family,”

“To my place,” I roll my eyes at him. He’s being impossible. “I thought we had plans?”

He sighs, “It’d be better if you invited your date,”

I frown, “Wh-“

He cuts me off, “Redhead out there must be waiting for you. Take her home, would you?”, he starts walking towards me. I shuffle backwards until my back hits the door. He’s trying to get past me so I grab his arm.

“You can’t just grab people,”

My grip softens around his wrist. I snap, “Could you just try to listen?”

He folds his arms across his chest, “You have a minute,”

“I texted. All week and all I got was a maybe. I came here, despite my hate for this place just to see you. And now you’re acting like I spit in your tea,”

He has the decency to snort, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Davy. He invited Philippa over. He’s been nagging at me to get a girlfriend for months now. That’s why I set foot in this place to begin with,”

He raises one of his perfect eyebrows at me and unwraps his arms from his chest, “ _Are_ you looking for a girlfriend? Is that what you want?”

What he’s asking is painfully obvious, and I decide that since he’s most likely going to hate me anyway, the least I could do is be straightforward.

I shrug, “Don’t mind. I want someone to love, regardless of what gender they are,” I lower my voice as I say, “That ship sailed ages ago, though,”

He hangs his head, and chokes out a small, “Noted.”

I reach my hand forward tentatively, and to my surprise, he takes it, stumbling towards me. “Do you get what I mean?”

His grey eyes finally meet mine. They’re stormy and deep and just what I’ve been craving all week. “Yes. No. You like someone,”

The air around us is heavy, encircling us in our own private world. I pull him closer and open my mouth to speak, but he beats me again,

“Listen, Snow. I misread the situation. You don’t have to let me down gently,”

Slowly, I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his smooth forehead.

#####  Baz 

Oh. _Oh._

I think he means he likes me. I’m barely starting to process this when the door opens, launching him forward. I drop his hand and step away. Davy is in the doorway, looking at Simon.

He lifts his chin up, arrogantly. “I see you’ve met my boy,”

Snow’s demeanour changes completely, from confident and tender to stiff and uncomfortable. I wait for him to say something, but he stays looking down at the floor.

“Certainly, I-“

He doesn’t let me finish, “Simon, what are you doing here?”

He nods his head obediently, “I was talking to Basil about a piece,”

Oh. My. God. Is he being purposefully obtuse?

Davy clicks his tongue once and then glances at him. Then at me. I stare right back.

“It’s not very polite to ditch your date, Simon,” I try very hard not to frown as he steps forward, and crosses his arms over his chest, “Mr. Pitch, I’m sure you know this already.”

“I do. But I also believe they were done.”

“Yeah, Philippa had to go. I just walked her to her car.”

Davy raises an eyebrow. Simon still won’t look at me, “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” I don’t know why, but I stay rooted to my spot as Snow shifts from foot to foot “I like Baz’s music. He’s drawing more people to the Club.”

“He’s very talented, although I’m sure his family wouldn’t appreciate him working here.”

Davy has been very vocal with his hate for the Pitches, which is part of the reason I haven’t tried to develop any kind of relationship with him or the staff. There’s no use.

I adjust my jacket and shake my head, “No, they know. They think the service I’m doing this Club is fantastic.”

Snow’s jaw drops, forming a perfect O. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I have a long drive up to my family’s estate.”

Davy claps my shoulder, “Good luck, son. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

I don’t bother replying. I’m pissed off as I drive home, taking corners harder. I’m still angry as I park outside my flat, and as I stomp up the stairs and flop on my bed.

My mum and Davy went to school together, way before he joined the military. She was everything he wanted to be. Top of her class, head girl, popular. According to Fiona, he was always trying to push his influence and agenda on people.

He hated the upper class and the way some families were lucky enough to enjoy luxurious lifestyles while there were kids in care homes, who could never afford basic education, much less university. The operative word there is _lucky_. Natasha Pitch didn’t ask to be born among the privilege she had, and neither did I.

I come from a long line of politicians and before that, we were royalty. My grandparents and their parents were bankers and politicians. My father is still a banker. A wild guess tells me that’s where I’m headed, too.

Before she had me, my mother became head of the National Department for Education and Davy wouldn’t shut up about how unfair her naming was. He had just returned from war and was looking for a way into politics, but it was already too late. Sure, there were some people following him and the idea of someone who had experienced war and true injustice. But his movement never took off.

Which is idiotic, if you ask me. Davy comes from money, too. Granted, not as old as my family, but still. He just loves playing advocate for people who are less fortunate than us. It’s a nice thought, but if you take into consideration how he kicked his own son out for not becoming an accountant, that makes him look like a hypocrite.

According to him, he would do better things if he ever got the job. Which he never did and ended up founding this Club. What he truly wanted was power.

My mother did good things for kids, though.

She pushed and worked for compulsory education and tried to get more funding for public school. And then she died.

Father still recurrently donates to education-related organisations and tries to get as involved as he can. He thinks no one knows about it, but I’ve seen it in the bank statements.

My phone buzzes next to me on my pillow. Snow. I already know it’s him.

Simon Snow (12:34 a.m): Is it weird that I said all that?  
Simon Snow (12:34 a.m): Like, maybe it was too soon  
Simon Snow (12:34 a.m): Sorry abt Davy

This disaster. I don’t know why, but he always knows the right thing to say.

Baz Pitch (12:36 a.m): Everything is good.

Not even a second later, he replies.

Simon Snow (12:36 a.m): :) When can I see you again?  
Simon Snow (12:37 a.m): It’s cool if you have to go, but I wanted to see you

Well. Now he’s gone and messed up all my plans. I’m still heading home for Christmas, but the 24th is not until Sunday, so I guess I could technically arrive a day later.

I wait a few minutes to reply.

Baz Pitch (12:45 a.m): Do you have anything in mind?  
-

#####  Simon 

Basil is coming over. Baz Pitch, Economics professor and classically trained pianist is coming over to my small, dingy flat for dinner, and then God knows what else we’ll get up to after.

It’s only noon, and I’ve just gotten back from London but I’m already planning what I’m going to make for him. I’m ace at cooking. I learned quite a lot during my uni years since I couldn’t really afford to eat out much.

I figured out last time we ate together that he does eat meat, so I decide on making roast beef, with some roasted broccoli, potatoes and mushrooms. It’s probably not as fancy as what he’s used to, but it’ll do.

Besides, it _is_ one of my absolute favourite dishes.

Before I start with dinner, I start by cleaning the floors, changing the bathroom towels and scrubbing the toilet clean. I change the sheets on my small Ikea bed just in case, (not that we’d get that far, given my limited experience, but still) and then I decide to make sure Muppet is clean and fluffy.

I pat his big head with a towel, after his bath. I’m messing up his fur, but it’ll be fine once I give him a good brush, “You’re going to like him so much, my love.”

I scratch the back of his head, and he looks upt at me, giving me an expression that practically says I’ve gone mental.

Once his fur is completely untangled and clean smelling, I start preparing dinner.

-

#####  Baz 

I absolutely hate myself for being on my way to Brighton, instead of going to Hampshire like I said I was going to.

I hate the fact that it took me almost an hour to decide what to wear, and I still went back and changed one last time before leaving the house. The wine on my passenger seat is screaming “date” and although I don’t want to think of it that way, it’s pretty clear that for Simon, that’s what it is.

I haven’t gone on a date for years now. Probably since I was still at uni. Kevin took me to watch a film, and then straight to his flat, where he tried to get me into bed.

He almost did, but then I felt terrible about it, so I went home. And we tried again the next weekend, and then that morphed into a terrible sex-based relationship that left me in worse condition than I started.

Of course, cheating and lack of compatibility forced their way into the relationship. The problem wasn’t the physical aspect of the relationship, but the romantic aspect (or lack of thereof). The main issue I had with Kevin was that I never got the memo that sex was the only thing he wanted from me.

That and the gifts I gave him.

If I think of it that way, it’s possible that Simon only wants that too, and maybe that’s why it’s so important for him to get me into his flat. If he thinks that’s what’s I’m driving two hours for, he’s in for a surprise.

Simon Snow meets me downstairs after I text him that I’m here.

“You came,”

He runs like an overexcited dog and then hugs me tightly, like we didn’t see each other last night. I feel like a dolt for wearing trousers and a button up. I pat his back weakly and hand him the bottle of wine.

“You shouldn’t have! This is so nice, thanks,”

I can’t help the smile that escapes me, “I hope you like my contribution to this dinner,”

He shrugs, “I’m sure I will,”

He’s wearing trainers, a white V-neck and black cotton joggers. I’m climbing up the stairs behind him now, and I’m so nervous that my hands are actually shaking. He smells amazing, like vanilla and cinnamon and sun and those joggers might be my favourite thing he’s ever worn. His body looks completely different than it does when he’s wearing a suit, in a good way.

Snow barely opens the door for me, when I see it.

It’s terrifying.

It’s big and white and fluffy. It runs towards me, its tongue out, panting and breathing out like it just ran a marathon.

“This is Muppet, my best mate,”

I can’t help but crouch down as the dog sniffs everywhere and slots himself between my legs, “Hey,”

I step back so he’s in front of me and I pat his head softly, “This is your owner, mate? I feel terrible for you,”

The dog licks my hands, trying to reach for my face, but I lean my head up. Snow snorts behind me, “He likes you already, give him a hug,”

I sneer at Simon, but because I’m weak, I wrap both arms around Muppet’s wide neck and press him to me. He’s big and dumb and his movements are clumsy, and I can’t imagine there’s any other kind of dog Snow would have. His fur is soft and it smells like he’s just been bathed, so I guess it’s a good thing. And Snow’s a vet, so.

He kneels beside me, and the dog quickly ditches me for Snow. He hugs him, too, and then presses a big kiss on Muppet’s head, right in the centre. 

“What a good boy,” he coos softly.

_It’s oddly comforting to be liked by someone’s else dog._

Especially when you like that someone just a little too much.

If Snow loves a bloody dog this much, and has him so well taken care of, maybe he can handle a human disaster like me, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Some of us have never changed our bedsheets secretly hoping that our classical-pianist-Uni-professor crush somehow ends up sprawled on them, and it shows._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I’m so excited for you to know where this story is going! Ch. 5 is almost done, and the outline is complete, and then we’ll be nearing the end!
> 
> If you like this, drop me a kudos/comment, it makes my heart feel warm and full xx
> 
> -MP  
> P.S. This is what I think [Muppet](https://www.101dogbreeds.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/Bolognese-Dog-Full-Grown.jpg) looks like lol :3


	5. It's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course. Jealousy feels like a punch in the gut, even when it’s something that happened years ago. It’s also a clear sign that I’m not treating this as a friendship, like I should have from the beginning.
> 
> I raise my cup of tea to my lips, “Yeah. Must’ve been nice,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/) (omg! The second chapter just dropped): 
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 Make sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (I keep rereading it and my heart breaks every single time!!) (she's a terrific writer)
> 
>  
> 
> My [tumblr!](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/) (I follow back)

##### Baz 

Dinner was stellar. There’s an old, antiquate saying that goes something like _“the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”_ , and I couldn’t agree more in this moment.

He outdid every roast beef I’ve ever eaten, except my Nanny’s. 

The meal was rich and, along with the wine, has made our stomachs feel full and heavy. We’re outside, sitting on the smallest balcony I’ve ever seen in my whole life, looking at the sea. 

Snow’s lucky enough to be on the top floor of the shabby building. His flat is small and it’s clear that there’s space for only one person. A small counter divides the kitchen from the dining table and the living area. The walls are white and bare, but it’s still cozier than my place. There’s a giant throw blanket draped over the back of the only sofa, and pictures scattered around in frames or pasted to the fridge’s door.

From the photos, I recognise the Club’s manager, Penelope. He went into detail about their lifelong friendship over dinner.

His balcony faces the beach, and although the door gets stuck and is difficult to slide open, it’s now one of my favourite places in the world. Peaceful. 

We’re sitting next to each other on plastic chairs, elbows touching while the dog naps at our feet. It’s quite chilly, but the tea we’re drinking is making everything seem better. The balcony is so tiny, we can’t get up without disturbing Muppet, so I guess we’ll have to stay here for a while.

I’m starting to shiver, and I curse my inability to stand low temperatures. Snow is looking at me. I can feel it. I’m tempted to grab a smoke, but I don’t think he’d like that.

“You cold?”

I shake my head, “No, it’s just the breeze.”

He raises both eyebrows and touches my hand with his, “Your hands are like ice.”

“Snow,” I say quietly.

“Wait here, I’ll get you something, yeah?”

I shrug. He lifts up slowly from his seat. The dog stirs, but other than that, he seems unbothered. 

I’m feeling more comfortable around him since we got to know each more during our meal. I told him a little about Fiona and her job in the Middle East, and then that made him tell me he knows Fiona’s friend, Ebb. (I don’t think either of us is sure of the nature of their relationship, but it’s also none of our business.) Apparently, she’s a florist, and he worked for her during university.

He’s also friends with Rhys, the bartender at the Club, and it makes me wonder how long he’s been around me, without me noticing. Everyone already knew about his existence except for me.

It’s like Simon Snow was one of the world’s best kept secrets. Precious, not to be ruined by anyone. Not to be discovered by anyone who didn’t deserve him. Or maybe he discovered me.

I’m lost in my thoughts when I hear the screeching of the door being opened, and then Snow flops back on his chair. Muppet goes back inside, giving us a little more privacy.

Simon shoves a black sweatshirt at me, “Here, put this on.”

It’s his bloody Uni football sweatshirt. “What? No.”

He scoffs, “What, doesn’t it match your fancy trousers?” 

I roll my eyes, “It’s not that, Snow” and then hold it up as I examine it. It looks clean. On the back, it reads ‘Snow’, along with the number 06.

“Then what is it? Put it on so you’ll stop shaking like a leaf,” he pleads.

I can’t believe I’m doing it as I push my head and then my arms into it. It smells nice, like cheap laundry detergent and honey. It’s unsurprisingly large on me. (Snow’s got more muscle on him than I do. And his shoulders are pretty broad.)

I’ve never shared clothes with anyone before. The way it makes me feel closer to him is indescribable. I can’t help but tell him so.

“Never, not even with an ex?”

I frown, “No, why would I?”

He scratches the back of his neck, “Well, it’s sort of a popular romantic gesture, innit?” he shrugs, “Someone I dated back in school lent me her Lacrosse sweatshirt once, and then I never gave it back. "

Of course. Jealousy feels like a punch in the gut, even when it’s something that happened years ago. It’s also a clear sign that I’m not treating this as a friendship, like I should have from the beginning.

I raise my cup of tea to my lips, “Yeah. Must’ve been nice,”

He reaches between us and grabs my free hand from where it’s hanging off the armrest. 

“Did you like dinner?”

I look at him. His eyes are lovely in the light of the setting sun, and his hair shines golden. It takes my breath away. How can someone be so beautiful and good and like me for me?

I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my lips, “Yes. It almost beat my Nanny’s.”

He rolls his eyes, “Of course. So posh.” He surprises me by lifting our joined hands and kissing the back of my hand once. “Was it better than your mum's?”

Ouch. He doesn’t realise it, but he just touched a sore spot. I unclasp our hands, returning it to my mug so I can hold it with both. “Um, I wouldn’t...I don’t remember.”

His frown deepens, but I continue. Might as well get it out now.

“She died in a robbery when I was only five,”

##### Simon 

I can’t believe I’ve just said that. How thick can I actually be? It’s no wonder he closed off quickly.

I feel tears threatening to spill before I can think of a coherent answer, “Baz, I...”

He shakes his head and turns away from me, placing his mug on the floor, next to mine. He pulls on his sleeves, making them go over his hands.

“It’s fine, it was a long time ago.”

“No, but I should have known. Or asked, instead of saying it like that.”

He’s still not looking at me as he mumbles, “How could you know? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m so sorry. I really am. I know what it’s like. To not have a mum, I mean.”

A lone tear rolls down his cheek, and I’m itching to wipe or kiss it away, “I’m aware, Snow.”

The thought of him growing up alone, without anyone to hold him or tell him the right words breaks my heart. I know that’s how it was for me, but for some reason, Baz is a lot more sentimental than I originally thought. Just because I didn’t have it easy, it doesn’t mean I’d wish that hell upon someone else.

He deserves the world. 

I lift myself up from my chair and fold my arms around him. At first, he doesn’t react, but then he wraps both arms around my middle. “S’alright.”

He doesn’t reply. The wind is blowing around us, and the sun has completely gone down, now, leaving us alone in the dim light coming from the inside of my flat.

“We’re here now,”I press on, and then he says something against my belly that sounds like, “All right,”

I keep going, “I promise I won’t ever turn my back on you,”

Slowly, he lets go of me, and then gets up, 

He looks me in the eye as he says “Let’s not make any promises, okay?” 

Mentally, I’ve already made my promise to him, but I nod anyway, both of our eyes damp. I wish I could kiss the sadness out of him. I want Baz to be the one who kisses me first. When and only if he wants to. 

It seems like his past relationships haven’t been good, and he hasn’t ever touched me first, so I’m trying to give him the chance to go further at his own pace. It’s not like I can think of snogging someone else, anyway.

“I’m saying yes, but you must already know the promise has been made.”

He takes a tiny step forward and lifts his hand up to cup my cheek. I lean into it. His eyes are still intense, we’re so close that our breaths are mingling as he whispers, “You courageous fuck, how can you be so sure this is worth the risk?”

I shrug, “I'd bet on us. Anyone would, just look at you,” I start to babble, because I need to distract myself from the need to kiss him.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, asking for my consent and I smile weakly.

And then _he_ kisses _me._

His mouth is cold, and his lips are a little stiff at the beginning, but the way he’s making me feel has far surpassed my expectations. He’s gentle and passionate, the same way he is in every other aspect of his life.

The kiss doesn’t include teeth clashing and tongues meeting frantically like I thought it would. It’s soft, paced, like we’re both trying to scare each other’s doubts away.

He’s still cupping my cheeks, so I snake my hands around him until I reach the small of his back, and then I press him to me. My body is in overdrive. My heart is beating erratically, and holding him like this, so close to me, is making my stomach feel like it’s going to fly away from me at any minute. He tilts his head to the side, and I move my chin forward. That makes him audibly gasp, and then his hands move up to my hair.

##### Baz

I break apart first. “Let’s go inside,” I say after taking a deep breath. Jesus. I’m panting. Like a dog.

He’s flushed, and his hair is a mess (I did that) and I can’t stop staring at his pink lips.

“You sure?”

I nod, and silently plead that he doesn’t make me say I want to go in for a snog before I have to leave. It’s getting almost too cold for me, and although his warmth is seeping through my skin, I’d rather be inside.

His face splits into a giant grin as he grabs my hand and pulls me to him again. After a while, we finally make it inside, fumbling around and stumbling like two lovesick teenagers and then I’m on my back, lying on his crappy sofa. _Here we go again._

Simon Snow is above me, making me reach up for his mouth. And stupidly, I do, every time. Vaguely, I feel something dig into my shoulder, but I can’t be bothered to check what it is. He abandons my lips, and starts leaving soft kisses along my jaw, and then my neck.

It feels fantastic. It’s almost an out of body experience. He’s snogging me like his life depends on it. I feel his hand reach underneath my shoulder, and then I see him pull out a bone shaped toy. He tosses it on the floor. 

I can’t help but giggle as he presses an open mouthed kiss on the skin near the edge of his sweatshirt, “Like you. So much. You’re so fit,” he whispers against my chest. 

I smile because I know he won’t see me. Then I pull him to me and kiss him again, and again.

Suddenly, he stops. 

“Snow, what-“

He gets off the sofa and offers me his hand. I take it and sit up, and then he sits against the armrest and opens up his arms for me. I’m confused, but I play along because I’m frankly scared he’s going to say this was a mistake.

“Baz, sorry, I got carried away,”

I frown and settle between his legs, pressing my back against his chest. “We were just snogging. That’s hardly getting carried away,”

He chuckles from behind me and places a kiss on the back of my neck. “I know. I just-I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,”

I turn my head to look at him as much as I can, “Hmm, what do you want, then?”

You already have me.

“I want the whole package. The dinners, the talking, having you in my arms,” he stops, and then in a smaller voice, he goes on, “the snogging, too.”

I snort, “You have no idea what you’re saying. It seems like a terrific idea right now, but that’s cause you barely know me.”

His grip around my waist gets tighter, “I know about the stuff that matters.”

“Does Davy know that you just played along and went to his Club, just to get a shot at shagging the piano bloke?”

His whole body tenses, and he drops his arms away from me, “I- Don’t say it like that. It was never about that.”

I turn in his arms so I can look at him, and press myself closer, then I raise an eyebrow, “About what?” He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him talk, “Because if this is about getting me between your sheets because you think I’m fit and broody, let’s get it over with.” I spit.

I’m always everyone’s bad boy fantasy. Every single one of my previous relationships has started with them being curious about my whole guarded demeanour. I’m not here to fulfil someone’s teenage fantasy again.

Simon looks like he’s about to cry, “Baz, stop. That’s just vicious,”

He grabs both of my cheeks, forcing me to look at him, “If that was the case, I wouldn’t have chased you around for weeks. I wouldn’t be thinking about coming out to Davy,”

I feel like the air has been knocked out of my lungs, “You don’t have to do that,” I place my hands over his, “Right now, or ever.” 

He presses his forehead to mine. We’re breathing the same humid air, his lips almost brushing mine as he says, “I will. You deserve a relationship that’s out in the open. Jesus. I like you, so much.”

I kiss him fiercely, our teeth clash as I push and he gives it right back, but he pulls back eventually, and I continue “I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you lose the only family you have.”

He’s silent for a second, and then his tears are dampening my own face, “I have to. I just need a little time.”

He kisses me this time, softly biting my bottom lip at the end. The feeling in my chest is suffocating. The way he looks at me makes me feel breathless. Like I’ll stop breathing altogether the second I stop being between his arms.

My chest aches, making my urge to cry stronger. I ache for the heartbreak that will come once he realizes I’m not what he thinks I am. I’m just a spoiled, lonely brat that dreams of escaping the life he’s built for himself. Sure, I’m considered intelligent, but how has that ever helped me feel less trapped?

If anything, it has contributed to it. The need to stand out, to perform perfectly in every aspect of my life is dragging me down. I’m so weak, that I just accepted something that’ll wreck me completely.

Do I know enough about what’s actually important? Love, human connection, giving back, appreciating my silver spoon? No.

Instead of crying, I kiss him again, letting his body help me shut my brain off, but he’s not letting me. He breaks apart, and I decide it’s time to bite the bullet. 

The hurt and heartbreak that he’ll leave in my life after he inevitably leaves me is a price I’ll have to pay for the marvel of having Simon Snow between my arms.

I clear my throat and wrap my arms around his neck. He cradles my head in one of his big hands as I mumble desperately into his hair,

“You can have this,” 

I kiss the mole behind his ear, and then continue my rash declaration,

“It’s been yours to keep since the first time I saw you,” 

I make my way down the moles on his neck, “drunk out of your mind, wearing that stupid suit.”

He pushes me back until we’re facing each other again. “I’m going to try, so hard. To make you happy,” he chokes.

I pull him down with me, stopping him before he starts making promises he won’t be able to keep.  
-  
It’s not until I’m halfway to Hampshire when I notice I’m still wearing Simon’s sweatshirt, and it’s keeping me insanely warm. 

I don’t even know if it’s actually the thick material or just the memories from tonight that’s keeping my stomach warm and my cheeks flushed as I drive and drive in the quiet night and think about him.

In a way, it feels right to finally know exactly how he feels about me, but on the other side, it’s terrifying to know that my happiness now depends on him. Beautiful, kind, courageous, righteous Simon.

I’m walking a tightrope, tossing a coin in the air for him. It might just be the greatest thing in the world, or it could completely destroy me. The spontaneity of it all makes me ask myself whether it’s meant to last forever or if it’s something to help us get through the winter.  
-

#####  Simon 

Every single Christmas since I was eleven, has been the same. We go to the Club on Christmas Eve, check that every customer that paid to have dinner here has a great time. Serving, bringing cutlery, napkins, cleaning up spills, dealing with drunk customers…When I was younger and couldn’t help, I’d hide in the staff room and eat while waiting for the night to end. The next day, Davy and I would eat leftovers and then go straight to work. 

The holidays are hell for people who work in customer and food service.

I never really got gifts, but in the years I had been ‘good’ according to Davy’s criteria, I’d get a practical gift, like a printer or a new jumper. I think it happened three or four times during my adolescence, but it was a brilliant moment for me, anyway.

As I got older, I started filling in for waiters or checking coats if Davy asked me. Once or twice, he let me spend the holidays with the Bunces, and those are my happiest Christmas memories. The amount of love and hospitality I felt still brings a smile to my face every time I think of it.

This year, I was thinking of spending it at home with Muppet, like I did every single one of my uni years. I’d cook myself a rich, heavy meal, including fresh scones and watch a marathon of Doctor Who. Sometimes I’d pop open a bottle of wine for myself, too. I can’t say I didn’t have a decent time, honestly. It was mostly about reflection and rest. 

But since I want to set things straight with Davy, I decided to come up and help him. I still don’t know what I’m exactly telling him, but at least I want him to stop trying to decide who I can date, because well, I’ve already made my choice. A great one, at that.

My stomach fills with butterflies at the simple thought of pressing my lips against Baz's again. Of grabbing onto his slim frame and holding him close to me.

I’m already in too deep. _Figures._ I’ve never been a quitter, so I guess Basil’s going to have to try really hard to push me away. That’s what he’s always trying, but I’ve figured it out. And I’m not planning on letting him go now that I have him under my thumb.

I think I might even love him already. It’s inevitable. He’s so bloody smart, fit, sensible, talented and cares about things even when he tries not to show it…what’s not to love?

After dinner is served for the patrons, I head to the back to send Baz a quick text:

9:45 p.m. Simon Snow: Hey the violin dude replacing you sucks  
9:45 p.m. Simon Snow: wish you and your piano hands were here

The blue dots that indicate he’s typing show up immediately, and then disappear before reappearing.

9:46 p.m. Baz: Don’t insult a classical musician ever again in my presence.  
9:46 p.m. Baz: But I wish you were here, too.  
9:46 p.m. Baz: It’d be a lot less dull.

I smile wide at his words. He’s sweet even when he tries hard not to.

9:47 p.m. Simon Snow: Technically, you’re not here, so  
9:47 p.m. Simon Snow: I’m about to talk to Davy 

He replies instantly,  
9:46 p.m. Baz: Be careful, you don’t have to  
9:46 p.m. Baz: I’ll save you some dessert for Tuesday x

9:47 p.m. Simon Snow: You better, Basil❤️

##### Baz

After dinner, I sit with Niall, Dev and his Fiancée in the conservatory. We’re replete, drinking a glass of wine. 

I’m still incredulous about what happened yesterday. I never believed Snow would be brave enough to try and tear my walls down. (Not that he has.) (Not all of them, at least). But now I’m starting to feel scared for the future.

What’s going to happen when we get tired of going back and forth?

Maybe it’s a mistake, after all. Or maybe it’s a good thing that it won’t last for a long time. From now on, I’ll have to share my time and my keys and be patient and organise myself in a way that works for him, too.

By the time we’re on our second glass, I’ve worked myself up into quite a snit. I can’t even remember what the conversation here is about, so I stay quiet.

Niall clears his throat, “Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Yeah, Baz, I haven’t seen you so distracted in years,”

Because I’m a constant disappointment to myself, I let my mouth curl into a grin.

Niall starts giggling, and then Danna follows as Dev starts, “Oh, shit. Baz here finally got laid,”

I roll my eyes and try not to laugh, “I absolutely did not,”

Niall wiggles his eyebrows, “Stop acting like a fourteen-year-old virgin,”

“I swear to God, I didn’t. I might have snogged a bloke just before driving here, though,”

Dev purses his lips and takes a sip, before asking, “Is it serious or just a casual thing?”

I sneer, “Do I look like I can genuinely do casual?”

“No, not really,” Danna replies, and I can tell she’s being sincere. I don’t know why I bother with the morose attitude these days, because everyone seems to see right through it. “What’s his name, then?”

I fill them in, finally. I tell them how Simon and I met, and then how I tried to avoid him like the plague, but he eventually dug his way into my brain. I leave out a few details, like Snow’s fixation with my hands, but I do tell them how I feel right now.

Trapped. Like I made a decision without thinking. Like I’ll see him in a couple of days and he’ll feel completely repulsed by the idea of wanting to be with me. It will be awkward and embarrassing for both of us.

By the time I’m done telling them, my voice is wobbly.

“Hey, hey, mate,” Niall says, holding my gaze, “You haven’t made a bad decision. I think you’re just scared,” I nod.

“Yeah. Baz. You’re just trying to find a way to backtrack, but from what you’ve told us, this Snow guy seems to be pretty serious,” Dev adds, pulling Danna to him.

She gives me a fond look. I guess we’ll be family in a few months, so I’ll allow it, “You’re just trying to find a way to push him out so you can continue feeling miserable about yourself. He likes you. You like him. Give it a chance,”she chimes in, in a matching worried tone.

Her advice hits me like a brick to the head. Of course, she’s right. All of them are. I haven’t been this invested in someone in years, and I just don’t know how to handle romantic feelings of my own now.

I can give pretty insightful advice from the experiences I had in the past, or from what I’ve read or seen from other couples, but I can’t bear to see my own relationship begin, much less fail.

Coaches don’t play, and all that. I suppose it’s time I give this one game a chance.

-

##### Simon 

I work until after dessert is served, and then head into the staff room and plop down into one of the small sofas. I take my black bow tie off, and then I curse myself for not sending Baz a picture first. This waiter uniform is ridiculous and itchy, and it might have made him laugh, but the truth is, I’m trying to play nice for Davy. 

Davy opens the door and stays just behind it.

“If you don’t mind, there’s a lot to do out there, Simon,”

I nod, “Yeah. I wanted to have a word with you,”

He grimaces and steps forward, “Now’s not the time for sentimental tosh,”

I stand up, “No, it’s not like that. I just wanted to tell you that I’m not doing any more of your dates,”

He raises both eyebrows, “You know I only want the best for you, Simon.” I open my mouth, but he continues, stepping closer, “You’re my only son, and I want to make sure you have a respectable family and job,”

I shrug. That always pisses him off, “Yeah. I have a career that’s taking off. I can handle some casual dating, I think,”

I always know when he’s getting angry by the way his face starts changing colours. Right now it’s starting to look red, “Simon, you don’t understand,”

He lowers his voice, but it’s still as menacing, “We have to unite with families that think like us, like Philipa’s. Then we’ll be on the same side of politics, and getting the power we need to change things will be easier,”

I cross my arms, “Well, if you only adopted me as part of your political agenda, you should have said it from the start,”

He lifts one of his hands and slaps me like a child. I feel the sharp pain of his ring hitting my cheek before I realise what happened. He hit me like he used to when I was a teenager, and he’d find out I had a drink at a party or got in too late.

“How can you be so ungrateful? I fucking gave you everything, and you repay me like this?”, he spits.

I shove him with my shoulder as I pass him, and turn, “That’s it. We’re done. I’m a full grown man, and you can’t choose for me anymore,”

“I chose you to make you a man, and this is-“

I don’t bother looking back as I walk all the way out of the Club. I don’t bother covering my face, but I do feel the warmth of blood dripping down my cheek, but I don’t stop walking until I’m a few blocks away. 

Once I’m safely in Penny’s building, I call Baz. I know this might just rile him up, but I can’t help but need to hear him comfort me.

When I first moved out of Davy’s house, Penny forced me to start going to therapy. Yes, it was expensive, and at times I was practically working just so I could afford my sessions, but it made me see the truth in many aspects. Everything started to finally make sense. For example, Davy would justify the way he treated me as trying to make me disciplined.

“It’s how it is in the military,” He’d say as I cried on the floor, clutching a towel to my face. “If you learn your lesson well, you won’t need to go through this again,”

“Yes, dad,” I’d answer between sobs.

Baz answers after the third ring, his voice sleepy. “Hello,”

It’s instantly comforting. 

“He hit me,” I cry into the phone, and then I let my tears flow freely. It’s not that it’s particularly painful, I think it’s just the principle of his actions, the humiliation, that hurts me.

“What the fuck? Say that again,”

I sigh, “I told him I wouldn’t date for him. I didn’t even get to come-“

“That’s enough, Snow.” He snaps, his voice is angry, “I’m going to kill him,”

“Baz, don’t be like that,”

“What do you want me to do then? Congratulate him?”

I go inside the flat quietly and head to the kitchen, “No, but I- I don’t want you involved in this,”

“Too bad. I’m your boyfriend. What happens to you is very much my business now,”

My stomach does a flip at his choice of words. I grab a dishtowel and dampen it to clean my face.

“Hey, look-“

He lowers his voice, “Do you want me to come down tonight? I can be there before sunrise,”

I wait for a second, “I want you to stay with your family. We’ll meet on Boxing day, yeah?”

“And then we’ll talk about this. I’ll quit that job. “

I leave my mobile on the counter while I clean my wound softly. The blood’s dried up now. “You love it,”

“I care more about you, you absolute nightmare,”

I grab my phone and walk quietly to the front room. I plop down on the large sofa and pull the throw blanket over me. It’s cold even for my standards.

“I do, too.”

He’s quiet for a good minute, and then his voice lowers, “I wish I could hold you right now,”

“We need to figure out the distance thing eventually,” I tell him as I let my eyes close.

I hear the humour in his voice, “Thinking of living together after the first snog? Scandalous,”

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. It feels good to laugh after what just happened, “No, I- You know what I mean. You’ll still live in Kensington, and I’m tied to Brighton,”

“I know, Simon. We’ll work something out, okay?”

I ask him about dinner with his relatives, and soon enough, I let his voice lull me to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Some of us have never filled a plastic container with dessert leftovers for the inflammably handsome vet we’re snogging and it shows._
> 
> Hello!   
> #5 is in! I hope you don’t hate me for where this story is going!! Six is almost finished, and then we’ll be pretty much done :(  
> Hope you’re enjoying reading this story as much as I am enjoying writing it!! (at this point I'm just pouring my heart out) If you like it, feel free to drop a kudos/comment♥️they make me way too happy!!
> 
> -MP


	6. We're all in the mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stay rooted in my spot, “Think about it. Say you will,”
> 
> He rolls his eyes and pulls on my hand, “I will. Come on, let me sleep on it, Snow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/) (omg! The second chapter just dropped): 
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 Make sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (I keep rereading it and my heart breaks every single time!!) (she's a terrific writer):
> 
> My [tumblr!](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/) (I follow back)

##### Simon

Baz passes me a ceramic plate piled with different kinds of cupcakes as he plops down next to me, “Here you go, Snow.”

I kiss his cheek as I start eyeing the cherry flavoured one. We’re in the front room of his parents’ mansion taking a break from all the noise and bustle on the lawn.

It’s Mordelia’s 13th birthday, and he thought it’d be the appropriate time to finally bring me home. I don’t know why he thought introducing me at an event with a party of a hundred people was a good idea. Most of them are Baz’s relatives, and it’s obvious everyone is posh and wealthy like he is. It’s eerie how everyone’s polite gestures and conversation is exactly the same. 

It’s surprising to me, to think about how quickly the past three months have gone by.

Mostly, it’s been kisses and cuddles and rushing over to his flat every Friday after work. Sometimes he comes down instead, but it’s less convenient for him since his dissertation’s deadline is just three months away. Still, I think he’s almost done, but knowing how serious he is about economics, he wants it to be flawless.

I’ve also gone to the Club a couple of times, just to watch him play. (It’s still something that hypnotises me, whether I realise it or not. I can watch him play for hours on end.) He really was about to quit back in December, but I convinced him to stay until his contract is finished in June.

Spring has just started, and with that, the promise of something sturdier. Not that our relationship is weak, but I think everything is still new to us. Like meeting his parents or learning what he looks like in the morning, completely hungover after a night out or learning the way he favours overly sweet drinks over a regular coffee or beer.

There are so many firsts we’ve shared together, including his own birthday, movie nights, getting drunk and stumbling home together, staying over… but there are still some things left to experience in our relationship. I like this pace. With my two exes, things happened pretty fast, but I think that was due to the fact that as teenagers, we couldn’t wait to get our hands on each other.

With Baz, things are much more paced, slow. Every date we go on, we discover something brand new about each other and learn to integrate it with what we’ve accumulated over the short time we’ve been together.

As the seasons fade away, I get the complete picture of Baz Pitch’s life, and with that, the fortune of knowing the real, colourful him, and not just the bland mask he puts on for the world.

##### Baz

Snow shoves his plate at me, “Want one?”

I wrap my arm around his neck, holding him closer and sinking us lower into the sofa, “Thought you’d never ask,”

He shrugs, “I thought you didn’t need the okay from me,”

I smile as I grab a cupcake and lift it to my mouth. He’s already eaten three. They’re part of Mordelia’s cake, but every section was a different flavour. I think there was cherry, vanilla, chocolate, peach and strawberry.

My family has ordered cakes from this specific bakery for every single one of her birthdays, but tonight is the first time I’ve ever shared my dessert ritual with someone else. It’s sort of my thing, really.

After dinner, when the kids are running around the lawn, kicking footballs, I steal a piece of cake and hide in the front room to regroup as I watch the fire. It can be quite a lot for me, to be around so many people at once.

This time I’ve got Simon Snow in my arms, and I couldn’t ask for a better surprise. I never would have believed you if a year ago you told me I’d be here, holding a boy.

A bloke who met my parents three hours ago and sat through their interrogation like a champ. It’s not that Daphne and my father were particularly ruthless, but they were genuinely curious about him.

Mordelia loved him. At first, she was shy, but once he unloaded Muppet from the back seat, she was suddenly Snow’s number one supporter. (We had to install a seat cover, or I wouldn’t have let Muppet come.) (I said it was called compromising. Snow rolled his eyes.)

When I told them I’d be bringing someone, they thought I was taking the piss. Once we rolled up in the Jaguar, Daphne’s smile was so wide, it was almost creepy.

But he smiled back and talked about his career. He was also surprisingly honest about how we met, telling them about his adoptive Father and my side job. If you saw him at his flat like I have countless times, barefoot, wearing trackies and a ripped up t-shirt, you wouldn’t think my parents would like him as much as they did.

But he won them over before roast was even served. Typical.

He’s really going at it with dessert, but in his defence, he just played football with some of Mordy’s classmates. I stayed seated along with my cousin, watching Simon’s hair shine golden against the setting sun, and then how his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to pass the ball around.

I could feel Dev watching me, and when I turned to look at him, eyebrow raised, he smirked, “Hell. You’re really in deep,”

I glared at him, “I most definitely am not,”

“Your eyes are literally shining,” I looked away, fixing my eyes on Snow’s running figure, “Love looks good on you.”

“Alright, alright. How about you mind your own business?”

He shrugged, “I like him. He’s so full of life and energy. He’s, as kids these days would say, too pure for this world,”

“Stop talking like that. You sound like an old dad already,”

That shut him up. The closer his wedding is, he gets more nervous and excited about the good old family life. I think I might be taking Snow as my date. Dev gave me extra passes, so I might tell him to bring his best friend, Penelope, too. And the American, while I’m at it.

She was unsurprisingly threatening the first time he introduced us formally. It was just a week before my birthday. He more or less tricked me into picking him up at Penelope’s before the Club one night. She sauntered down the stairs, looking every bit as stern as she looks when she’s working.

“You get one chance, and then you’re done, Basil,” She snapped, as her eyes searching mine. I held her gaze.

I think she saw how terrified I was, or maybe she saw something else in my eyes, because she softened as I said,

“You know I care about him. I clearly do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,”

Snow and Bunce’s fiancée were having the time of their lives as they sipped on lattes in the stairs, while we talked just outside the building. Thankfully, Simon handed me a coffee after the unusual meeting was done.

Snow’s not particularly skilled at football, but it was delightful for me to watch him, sweat dripping from his temple as he laughed and ran and played carelessly. Kids were thrilled to have an adult on their side, making the match even more interesting.

I can practically feel how nervous he is right now, his shoulders tensing as I pepper kisses down his cheekbone. I think he’s worried that my parents could walk in and see us snuggling in front of the fire. I don’t think anyone would mind.

So far, tonight has been ridiculously successful. All of my anxiety and nerves from the week vanished as everyone seemed to be completely taken by him. Maybe almost as much as I am.

I think I might even love him already. Although it _is_ still too soon to say it.

After guests start leaving, we huddle around a small fire back on the lawn. Snow’s got Muppet asleep on his lap, and I’m mildly offended because the dog usually prefers me when I’m around. 

Niall is here too, passing beers around, and Dev and Danna are squished into a single chair, being the annoying couple they are.

To my surprise, Snow’s the first one to break the comfortable silence.

“So, um, where are you guys planning on spending your honeymoon?”

Dev smiles at him, then glances at Danna before replying, “We’re thinking about going to Egypt. Nothing is certain yet, though”

I lean my head to the side awkwardly so I can look at Simon. He raises both eyebrows, “Whoa, pretty far. I thought you guys were going to do the classics. Paris, Belgium, Germany, maybe even Japan,”

Dev waits for a second before replying. I think he’s scared of cutting Snow off and making him uncomfortable, “No, we went there during our gap year, Niall and I, and then Danna and I went to France a year ago. That’s when I proposed,”

His grin is larger as he smiles fondly at his future wife. “I had to convince this one it was just a vacation,”

She snorts and then shifts in her seat so she’s laying her head on Dev, too. “Love, you literally couldn’t have been more obvious.”

Snow giggles, and it might be the prettiest sound I’ve heard today. “Why?”

I smile and place a kiss on the top of his head as Danna continues, “He told me we were going on an anniversary trip to Paris. Once we arrived, he wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat well, he would just go through the motions until he proposed,”

Dev huffs, “Babe, it was terrible, I kept thinking you’d say no, and then the whole trip would have been painfully awkward,”

Snow shakes his head and his curls tickle my neck.

“That’s tosh. I wouldn’t have said no. I was ready since we finished Uni,”

“Eww!”, Niall wrinkles his nose, “Are you guys done being corny, or do you need a room?”

I smirk at him. “Are you jealous or what?”

“Basil, just because you’re snogging someone now, doesn’t mean you weren’t in the lonely hearts club just a few months ago,”

I roll my eyes and flip him off. It’s childish, but these are my best mates since we were five, so I know it’s fine. Snow looks up and smirks at me.

Truth is, Niall is very casual about dating because he’s working really hard to build himself a name apart from his parents’. I think the last time he dated someone was before we were teenagers.

We’re still not sure about what he’s into, but it’s established that he’ll tell us when and only if he wants to.

I can tell Snow is curious about my life before him, because he starts asking them about school and then about my uni years. Dev’s got a mad glint in his eye, probably preparing my most embarrassing stories as they take turns telling him all about me. I pull a cigarette from my trousers pocket and light it.

Snow doesn’t flinch, but I already know he’s going to whine about it once we’re alone. We’ve had a conversation or two about my smoking habits and it’s clear he hates it. I do too, but it’s a habit that stuck when I was in my rebellious phase back in school, and although I don’t do it very often, I haven’t been able to leave it completely.

I think that’s how it’s going to be with Snow. I’m never going to be capable of quitting him. Not even years after our relationship crumbles like a sand castle.

I watch him flushed and happy, laughing with my best friends in this world, and say a silent prayer to whoever is up there that it lasts just a little bit longer.

“So, all of you went on a trip for your gap year?” Snow asks, shifting so he’s sitting straight on his chair again.

Dev starts before I can open my mouth, “Niall and I did. We didn’t have a clue about what we wanted to do with our lives,”

Simon looks at me, his eyes brimming with curiosity, “Why didn’t you go?” 

Once again, Dev cuts me off, “He was too good for that. He said he wanted to be in and out of university in the shortest time possible.”

I roll my eyes because I know what’s coming. “He also thought it was a waste of time, the wanker,”

Snow lifts our joined hands and kisses the back of my hand absentmindedly. My stomach still drops to the floor every time he does that.

#####  Simon 

I sneak glances at Baz as his friends tell us the story of his childhood, and then, his teenage years. It’s clear that his mum’s death had quite an impact on him.

I mean, I guess it would on anyone. It’s also obvious he’s rushed through life, never giving himself time to process or think about what he wanted next. It’s heartbreaking to see him, looking down as everyone tells their funny travel stories.

I watch his face going from thoughtful to straight up sad as everyone laughs. He makes the occasional menacing comment, but I think he does it just to cover up his mood. 

It’s not that he couldn’t afford it. It’s just he couldn’t give himself time. Although I obviously never went abroad, because well, my trust fund is nonexistent, I still took a year off, and in that time, besides working, I learned to cook, tested recipes, saw Penny and Micah all the time, read a few novels, but overall, I thought and thought about how I wanted to go forward in life.

It was refreshing, and I think it was one of the best things Davy ever did for me. Kick me out.

I think Baz needs just the same. He’s obviously got his life figured out, and he’s really freaking good at his actual job, besides his musical career, but I don’t really think he’s questioned who he is or why he made those choices. Yet.

 

-

##### Baz

Once Muppet’s been put to bed in the foyer and we’re up in my room, after showering, we finally lie exhausted in bed. The rain is falling hard outside, and I'm thankful for the safety of my room.

I run a hand through Simon’s damp curls as he presses his face further into my neck.

“See? That wasn’t so horrible, Snow.”

He places an open-mouthed kiss to the side of my neck, “Yeah. I know. I like them. I think everyone was pretty nice, besides the poshness,” he whispers.

I’m about to reply but he takes me by surprise by lifting his face to mine and kissing me fiercely. I let his tongue into my mouth, still a little shocked.

It’s a little unexpected, but it’s still very much welcome. We’ve shared a bed a few times now…we just haven’t done it yet. Despite that, it’s still brilliant to have him so close to me, in a space that feels like a secret oasis.

He rolls on top of me underneath the covers and I place my hands on his bare back. I’m starting to wonder whether or not I locked the door now.

His kiss is desperate, intense, and soon enough we’re both breathless. He breaks apart but keeps his hands on my cheeks.

“You should go,” He whispers, searching my eyes in the dark.

 _What?_ This can’t be it.

“Simon,”

He’s still close to me, and his eyes are alive, alive, alive, “You should go. Take a year off. Leave for a bit,”

Hot tears start forming in the back of my eyes. I take my hands off him.

I try to keep my voice from breaking, “Are you mad? After I finally found something worth staying for?”

“Yes. You need that,” He’s so earnest. He juts his chin out and that's how I know he's not backing down.

He's just broken my heart, and he hasn’t realised it yet.

He pushes his face back into mine and kisses me again, almost a little too roughly. I let myself melt into the kiss for an instant before I pull back.

He presses on, “I saw your eyes. When they were talking about everywhere they’ve been. They were practically gleaming, Basil.”

He can't do this. I won't allow him to make excuses for breaking this off. I sigh and let my indifferent mask resurface again, “Get off me.” 

His face falls, but he rolls away and sits up quickly to look at me. I lift myself off the bed and throw my robe on.

"If you want to get rid of me, you just need to say it, Simon,"  
I say it, and then I see his blue eyes filling with tears, and my heart finally snaps in two.

“Baz- that's not. I-I mean it. I’ll still be here when you get back. You need to go," he argues.

I sneer, “You aren't here to tell me what I need. I know myself.”

His tears are rolling down his cheeks, but his voice is even more forceful, “You’re stuck, and you bloody well know it. Finish the dissertation and leave. Get out of your privileged little world,”

I don’t bother replying as I run out of the room, and out in the rain, letting my tears roll down my cheeks.

##### Simon

It takes me a second to react as the bedroom door slams closed, and then I’m running after Baz. It doesn’t matter that we’re being noisy, stomping down the stairs and slamming doors. 

I notice as I’m running out that Muppet’s walking and sniffing around, probably confused about the racket and strange setting. By the time I’m out the front door, he’s already outside, near his car.

“Baz,”

His hair is dripping water down his neck. He doesn’t look up. I try again, “Baz.”

“What? Just go.”

The rain is cold and I shiver as it falls down my body. I forgot to put a shirt on in my haste to catch him. I walk towards him and grab his wrist gently, removing his hand from the car’s door handle.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to think it’s about that.”

He finally looks at me. His pretty eyes are red-rimmed and completely soft. 

“And what exactly is ‘that’, Snow?”, he says.

I grab his hand now, intertwining our fingers. He lets me.

“Us. Our relationship. Of course I want to be with you,”

He scowls down at me, “Then have some sense, and don’t ask me to do the complete opposite.” He leans forward and grabs my other hand. He’s freezing.

I wonder what his family would think if they saw us, holding hands in the middle of the rain. Both of us crying, me, shirtless.

I refuse to raise my voice, “That’s not what I’m asking you. I’m asking you to live.”

He lets go of both of my hands and for a second I think he’s going to run away, but instead, he wraps his arms around my neck, holding me close.

“Snow,” he says near my ear, “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m perfectly fine. I have a nice job, a good family, and a self-declared terrible boyfriend,”

I wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze him to me, willing him to feel something. 

“You’re not happy, you’re just going through the motions.”

It takes him a second to reply, and he busies himself by burying his nose in my damp hair. The rain keeps falling around us, and now I’m starting to shake, but I’d stand here for hours, just for him. 

“I’m content,” he says into my hair, “That should be enough. I’ll get better once I’m done with the PhD. I’ll be able to see you more often,”

It’s so fucking sad. My heart aches for him. He can’t even see how terrible it is that he’s just okay with life. He’s not excited about anything he does, except for maybe playing music and snogging me, and I worry that I’ll become part of his routine too.

I lean my face up to look at him. His eyes are determined, but his lip is still quivering. I can tell I won’t win this one tonight, but one day I will.

“I mean what I said, yeah? If you decide to go and then return, I’ll still be here,”

He kisses me once, and then lets go of me. He takes one of my hands. “Let’s go inside, you’re going to catch a cold,”

I stay rooted in my spot, “Think about it. Say you will,”

He rolls his eyes and pulls on my hand, “I will. Come on, let me sleep on it, Snow.”

He doesn’t mention it the next day when we’re on our way back to London.

-

 

It’s almost terrifying to watch Baz on the edge of a breakdown. His hair is falling around his face, and his movements are frantic as he goes through his books. Tomorrow is the defence of his dissertation, and he’s been restless all week.

I obviously couldn’t be in London all week to help him because, well, I have to work. But I still tried to give him moral support through the phone and although it wasn’t enough, I think It helped him.

But I’m here tonight, and he’s gone through his notes a million times. It’s midnight already and he hasn’t even stopped to have dinner yet.

“Baz,”

He looks up from the thick stack of papers he’s going through, “What? I’m almost done, I swear,”

I snort, “You’ve said that for the last five hours. Come on, let’s eat something and go to bed?”

“You’re mental,”

“Baz. You’ve been reading on your dissertation’s topic for two years. I’m sure you know everything there is to know about it,”

He leans forward, gathers his papers and tosses them onto his coffee table. He finally looks at me, “I know. Sorry, love. I just want it to be perfect.”

I leap off the sofa and relocate myself on his lap, “It’s already perfect. You know that. You worked on it, and you wouldn’t settle for less.” 

He smiles smugly, “Certainly. But I can’t believe tomorrow it’s going to be over. It’s insane.” 

“I’m so proud of you,” I say softly before I kiss his forehead. “I’ll tell you what – You go, take a nice shower while I heat the pasta up. We have dinner, go to bed and wake up early so you can take one last look at your notes, yeah?”

He places his index finger on his chin, pretending to think about it for a second. 

“Would you snog me first?” He looks at me, and then at Muppet, who’s sleeping on the thick carpet, dribbling all over it. “Now that the offspring is asleep.”

I raise both eyebrows, “If you say so, Professor.”

He smirks and brushes his lips against mine.

We started jokingly saying Muppet is our child since he comes wherever we go now. I used to leave him at the vet hospital I work in when I had to stay over at Penny’s, but now I just drop him off here if I have an errand to run, or if we’re going out all day.

Baz, as expected, has taken his role seriously. He’s even bought him multiple toys, a new leash, and took the responsibility to buy his food.

“Muppet deserves the best of everything, Snow.”

I rolled my eyes, “He’ll be fine, Baz. He was okay on generic food.”

“My child won’t eat off-brand and neither will I.”

I threw my hands up in defeat and handed him the worn-out leash, “Go ahead, then. Be his posh Father, send him to bloody boarding school for all I care,”

His smile was the largest one I’ve ever seen on his face. 

Muppet’s taken to Baz so much, that I worry he’ll be heartbroken too if he and I ever broke up. I wonder how we’d settle that. I mean, I would keep him, but would Baz visit him? (Not that I’m planning on letting that happen, ever.)

While Baz is in the shower, I heat up the takeaway we ordered hours ago. I kinda already tore into it when it first arrived because I was starving and he said it was fine if I did. (Besides, the warm bread rolls were calling my name.) I tidy up the coffee table a little and then I change Muppet’s water and make sure he’s all ready for bed.

I’m back in the kitchen, setting up the placemats and cloth napkins when he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my middle. 

“Thank you. I feel infinitely better,”

I smile as he reaches around me to switch the electric kettle on. He makes us both a cup of tea and then we have dinner in the oversized kitchen isle, sitting close to each other. (His kitchen is as big as my flat.)

We don’t really talk much, but I think that’s brilliant, anyway. We’re comfortable enough around each other to avoid trying to fill every second we’re together with conversation. Once we’re done, he kisses my cheek and offers to do the washing up while I get ready for bed.

I used to be nervous about him doing domestic chores because of how posh he is, but he’s pretty efficient at them and doesn’t seem to mind doing them. Except for cooking. I’ve become well acquainted with every appliance and utensil in his kitchen because it’s all I do when I’m here.

I open the bathroom door after brushing my teeth, and I see him sitting up in bed, trying to massage his own shoulders.

“You need a massage?”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “What kind of massage?”

I roll my eyes, “Come on, take your shirt off and lie on your belly,”

He grins, “I’m interested,” and then digs in his nightstand drawer for lotion and tosses it at me, “You’re an angel. My neck and shoulders are killing me,”

“I know, I know.”  
He lays on his stomach, shirtless and I kneel at his side on the bed, careful not to crush him. I squeeze some lotion on my hands. It smells faintly like lavender, and I rub my hands together before touching his back to warm it up.

I try hard not to think about his perfect pale skin and try to focus on how tight his muscles feel. I focus on massaging the knots out of his back as best as I can, but he’s seriously stressed, if the state of his muscles is an indicator. 

He makes the prettiest sounds as I press on different spots and squeeze his shoulders. After a good fifteen minutes, I notice his breathing has slowed down, and his eyes are closed, so I move his hair to the side and kiss his nape.

“Come on, go to bed now,”

He beckons me with his hand, half asleep and I yawn as I bring my face close to his. He kisses the corner of my lip. 

“Night. Thank you. I like your stubby hands and what you’ve done with them”

I flush. He’s being annoying about the way I talk about his own hands. “Shut up, Pitch. Now come on, you’re taking up the whole bed,”

He groans and smiles sleepily, then he sits up just enough to put his shirt back on and lie on his side, near the window. I turn off the bedside lamp and tuck myself into the covers. I feel him shifting to press himself against my back.

Finally.

“Night, love,” he says into the dark.

-

Penny actually asked Baz if she could come to witness the whole thing. I casually mentioned it over breakfast one day and her eyes lit up. She said she loves these kinds of ceremonies, and I don’t even know why she wants to be here if hers is coming up, too.

I asked Baz and he was over the moon. Penelope and Baz’s friendship is solely based on Academia and literature. They spend hours talking about their favourite Shakespeare analogies while I get dinner ready on the times she and Micah come over.

Micah once fell asleep on the sofa. That’s how bored he was with their whole conversation.

Anyway, she’s here, dressed in her best dress like she’s the one who’s defending her thesis. She’s literally brought a notebook and I think she’s going to actually write down whatever she finds interesting.

(She’s a lawyer.) (I don’t know what that has got to do with Economics, but I guess it does.)

I can’t keep my mouth closed or my eyes off him during his defence. He’s stunning, eloquent, and graceful. I can’t believe I get to be with someone like Baz. Once they start asking him questions, he’s ruthless. He takes them without even flinching and expands on the answers like he’s explaining to a kid why the seasons exist. He makes everything sound easy, which I guess is why he’s a terrific professor.

Once he’s finished, the examiners congratulate him and call him a prodigy. Apparently, he’s the youngest professor LSE has had in the last fifty years. My heart swells and I’m trying to hold back tears as everyone claps for him.

We’re out of the ceremony by six and then I’m throwing myself at him and kissing him in one of the deserted hallways.

“It went so well, you ridiculous posh twat. I’m so proud of you. I lo-“ _Shit._ It’s too soon to do this yet.

He kisses me again, and I silently thank him for not letting me embarrass myself saying those words way too soon. I mean, it’s been five months, and I do love him, but I don’t think he’d want to hear it yet.  
-

#####  Baz 

I feel like a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that I’m officially done with school. Maybe I’ll do another PhD if I feel like it in a few years, but for now, I’m done.

I haven’t stopped studying since I was three, so it’s odd to think I won’t have to attend a class (I mean, take one. I have to teach them now.) or take a test again.

My parents and Fiona came to my dissertation and then insisted on treating us to dinner. I’m glad Bunce and Micah came too because they helped Snow feel less lonely.

Not that my family isn’t obsessed with him, but still. Daphne loves Snow. She brought him an entire Shepherd’s pie that we left at my flat before leaving. I’m sure he’ll thoroughly enjoy his gift tomorrow.

I feel good, and at the same time, I feel like I should be happier. Everyone is laughing and drinking wine and toasting to me at dinner, and I’m content. I just thought I'd feel better than I do. I thought I’d be ecstatic, but I don’t. I actually feel surprisingly calm, but that might just be because of how little I’ve slept this week.

Soon enough, after an excessive amount of wine and hugs and praise, we’re stumbling through my front door. We’re not actually that pissed. I think we’re just exhausted. Simon stayed up for as long as I did yesterday, and I love him for that.

I close the door behind us, and Snow turns and looks at me like he’s hiding a giant secret.

“Wait here. Just for a sec,”

I shrug, a habit I’ve picked up from him.

I take my shoes off, drop my keys in the foyer table and get myself a tall glass of water. He finds me in the kitchen, and in both of his hands, he’s holding a giant daffodil bouquet.

It’s so lovely. My eyes are starting to water as he approaches me.

I hear my voice cracking as I say, “Simon,”

He extends them towards me, “Congratulations, love,” he says with a big grin.

I take the bouquet in my arms and bring my nose closer to them to smell them. I let my tears fall freely now. He’s made me so happy with such a small gesture.

“I had never-“ I clear my throat and look down, “No one has ever given me flowers before.” 

He crushes me to him and I can’t believe I can have this. He’s given me so much and I never thought I could have someone like him. He’s so ridiculously affectionate.

“You deserve them. I thought you’d like these. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you something fancier. But I loved the colour, yellow is so pretty, yeah?” He babbles, and I can’t believe this moron thinks I’d want anything else.

“Shut up. Thank you. This is perfect. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget this,”

He takes the flowers from me and drops them on the kitchen counter. I’m not sure who reaches for who first, but soon enough, he’s got me pressed up against the counter, his mouth pushing against mine in the most delectable ways.

We barely make it through the bedroom door and I think to myself, _this is it._

This is what we’ve been building up to for months now. I feel heat pool in my belly, and suddenly, I don’t feel so exhausted anymore. I don’t think there’s anything I’ve ever wanted this much.

It took us five months to get here. Yes, we’ve done some stuff, but mostly it’s been groping and grinding against each other, but I think that tonight is the night.

He’s treating me like I’m precious, taking the time to hang my jacket and undo every single one of my buttons. Every time he pops a button open, he kisses the spot of skin he reveals. The way he’s being so tender makes me choke up as I stare into his eyes and they tell me how serious he is about this. About us.

He’s stunning. His tawny skin, the moles that form constellations I haven’t seen before, and the dusting of hair on his lower belly makes me shiver.

Now that we’re both naked, right before it happens, I have to ask.

I whisper into the dark, searching his eyes, “Have you ever done this before?”

His voice is husky as he holds himself above me, “Yes. No.”

I smirk at him, “Yes or no?”

He dips his head down and places an open-mouthed kiss between my collarbone that makes me gasp.

“Yes. Not like this,”

“Not with a bloke?”

His blue eyes are wide and sincere, “No. And not when I wanted it this much.”

I pull him to me and kiss him fiercely. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

The slide of our skin together feels like magic. I've done this enough times before to know how it feels, but somehow with Simon, it feels elevated, especially when I can feel him sigh against my neck, whispering my name like it _is_ a prayer.

I try hard not to close my eyes because I'm trying to commit to memory the visuals of him like this with me. The only times I let them close is when he leans down and covers my mouth with his, and that's pretty memorable too.

It’s not until after, when he collapses against me and kisses me gently that the dam in my chest finally bursts. I roll over on my side, so he can’t see me cry, but he presses his body against me and wraps his arm around my middle.

At first, I don’t think he notices, but then he’s flipping me over and pressing me into his chest and kissing my hair desperately.

“Love, why are you crying?” he asks.

I can’t do anything but close my eyes and let a quiet sob escape me.

“Did I hurt you?” He kisses my cheek now and runs a hand through my hair.

I sniffle weakly, “No, I. Simon. Sorry. I- It’s just too much.”

I hear the smile in his voice, “I know. It feels like I can’t contain what I feel about you in my chest. You’re everything to me.”

I bury my face in his chest and let him hold me while I cry and ride this wave of unwanted ache. It’s embarrassing to get this sentimental, but it sometimes happens to me. When my feelings are too intense, and I feel so vulnerable and exposed, I feel that ache.

Remembering how my previous partners were about this just makes it worse. One would scoff and say it was an after effect of his mind-blowing skills. Kevin would just be awkward about it for a second before getting cleaned up and saying he had somewhere to go.

Somehow, Snow’s still here although we’re both still sweating and naked and urgently need a shower.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here. I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, and possibly until we’re old and pudgy,”

That gets a snort out of me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start weeping right after mind-blowing sex like this.”

He kisses the top of my head again and squeezes me tighter, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I get it. I’m here, love.”

After a while in his arms, hearing him say like a prayer that he’s here for me, I start to believe he’s actually here for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I’m back with chapter six :):) Writing this chapter was personally, a cathartic experience (there was so much to unpack, lol)and my lovely beta, [@Wo2Ash](https://wo2ash.tumblr.com/) and I spent quite some time on this 6k word monster! For some reason, I felt like it took me forever to fit everything I wanted to in it, but in the end, I liked the way it turned out.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! _If you liked this chapter, feel free to drop a kudos/comment♥️they make me way too happy!!_
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> -MP


	7. You're the piano man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you mad? At this hour?”
> 
> He shrugs, “Yeah, I’ll catch a cab.”
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/) (omg! The second chapter just dropped): 
> 
> Huge thanks to [ @WO2Ash](https://wo2ash.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9Drel=) who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 If you wanna have your heart broken, make sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s my favourite one shot.) (she's a terrific writer):
> 
> Check out my [tumblr!](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/)

##### Simon 

Ever since universities are on summer break, and Baz’s dissertation is done, he spends quite some time at my flat with his laptop or going on long runs. He’s coming over to spend a whole week here, so I think it’s only fair that I give him some space for his stuff.

I have a metal shower caddy that hangs over my shower head, so I clear the top shelf and accommodate my shampoo and body wash in the bottom one. Then, I empty one of the drawers in my dresser, shoving my underwear that was there in my sock drawer. It’s not like I have that many, anyway.

My bathroom counter is already pretty empty, so the last thing I do is transfer my books from my nightstand to the end table in the corner of the living room. 

It’s not really a move-in-with me sort of situation, I swear. It’s just that he leaves his suitcase sprawled open next to the bed and then we both constantly trip over it, so I think this will be better.

His keyboard is now taking up half the space in my living room, near the sofa, but I can’t say that I mind, at all. Especially when he plays slow, melancholic songs when he thinks I’m asleep on the sofa.

It’s such a spectacle to watch him, with his eyes closed as he loses himself completely in his music while I sink myself lower on the sofa, enjoying the view. It can go on for hours and hours, or sometimes it’s just twenty minutes, but it’s something I’m happy I get to witness. Every time I watch him play, my heart grows five times in size just for him.

The man literally has a concert grand piano in a room specifically designed for it at his flat, but somehow, he says he plays and practices better in my shitty living room. He’s completely mad.

If you ask me, I can't tell you the name of a single piece he plays, even when he constantly fixates on one for days. However, I could tell you exactly the mood he's in or the memory he's particularly thinking about just by hearing the first note he starts playing or by the specific order he's playing in.

Sometimes his playing starts sad and morose and builds up until he's playing completely joyful and bright music, but mostly it's the other way around.

He starts off with cheerful, bright pieces, and then he moves on to dark, gloomy music until his hands completely still. Oftentimes, he stays silent, staring at the wall indefinitely and I have to step in and try to kiss it away.

It’s during those times that I make us quick cup of tea, bring him his favourite biscuits and wrap myself around him for a bit. Sometimes I take his hand and lead him out of the flat and out into the beach. We walk along the rocks until he starts talking on his own accord. He rarely talks about what’s bothering him, though.

Still, I try to do my best to make his life happier, and I know he’s trying, but it still breaks my heart to see him like this.

##### Baz

Snow opens the front door for me before I knock. He’s carrying Muppet like he’s a small child. The dog’s front paws are around his broad shoulders, and his body is stretched out so his back legs are resting on my boyfriend’s hip.

They’re absolutely ridiculous but this also must be the most heartwarming thing I’ve seen in my twenty-six years on this earth. I want to take a picture so I can remember this moment forever.

“What the hell?” I say, a smile threatening to escape my lips.

His grin widens and he leans in for a kiss. I grab both of his warm cheeks, ignoring Muppet’s panting in my ear as I kiss him for a few seconds.

“Cuddle session, sorry. I couldn’t just abandon him in the middle, y’ know?”

Muppet starts leaning towards me, and then he tries to reach me by pawing at me, so Snow rolls his eyes,

“Would you believe that? He’s already dying to ditch me.”

I smile now. This fluffy mess of a dog, “Come on, you monster. Come to Father,” I mumble as I reach for him now, and carry him in. Snow rolls my suitcase in and closes the door behind me.

Honestly, he’s heavier than he looks, and his fluff is a little bit suffocating in the summer heat, but I don’t think there’s something that could keep me from holding Snow’s (our?) dog like an overgrown toddler.

I head towards the bedroom with Snow following me. I could use a nice nap after all that afternoon traffic. Once I reach it, I plop down on the bed and Muppet abandons me to settle himself on Snow’s side of the bed.

“Love, I freed up some space for you.”

For a second, I don’t get what he’s saying, “Say that again.”

Simon shrugs and tugs the third drawer of his Ikea dresser open. It’s completely empty.

I glance furtively at the pile of clean laundry that lives permanently on a chair in the corner of Snow’s room, “Do you want me to fold your clothes or…”

He points at the nightstand, “No, it’s for your stuff.”

“Simon, I-“

I get up and walk towards him. He takes my hand and opens the ensuite door that’s just behind him. “There’s space now for your posh bathroom stuff too, love.”

I notice the newly empty shower caddy and then he opens the mirror cabinet. It’s unoccupied too.

“Wow, I-I don’t know what to say,” I’m incredibly incoherent.

He shrugs and runs a hand through his long curls, “I figured, since you’re going to be here for a bit, you’d feel more at home if your stuff wasn’t in a bag.”

I leap for him and kiss him right there, in this minuscule white-tiled bathroom. I love this. I had never been anywhere near to have a drawer, much less all this space for me in a partner’s living space.

Which I guess means that Simon wasn’t messing around when he said he was serious, and I know he’s insisted on that from day one, but I couldn’t have ever imagined this when we snogged that first night. I thought it’d be long over by now.

Once we break apart, I hold his hand as he drags me to bed again, “You’re seriously the most generous human I’ve ever met, Simon.”

"It's just a couple of drawers, it's not that big of a deal," He matches my lopsided grin, “But you’re not terrible either.”

"To me, it's everything." I reply, barely looking at him.

His dopey smile tells me that one got him.

-

Simon's stumbling around the room wakes me up. I glance at my watch that's on the nightstand and I barely make out the time: 6:45 a.m. 

I groan and throw my arm over my eyes. I feel him kissing me good morning before he goes to work. His breath smells like coffee and it instantly makes me crave a nice, sweet latte, not the ghastly instant stuff Simon likes to drink. 

He tosses his house keys at me. I’m still comfortably lying underneath his covers but I manage to catch them and be mildly coherent as he babbles on.

“I’m going to be at work until six, probably, so like, feed Muppet. And yourself, yeah?”

I wrap the bedsheets tighter around myself. I’m still naked from last night, and since the bedroom’s door is open now, the cool air is drifting in.

“No, Snow. We’re both going to starve without your marvellous cooking skills.”

He huffs, “Order something then, you lazy oaf.”

I giggle and hide my face on the pillow, “Excuse me?”

“You bloody well heard me,” he says to my back, “order for me too while you’re at it. I’ll pay you back when I return.”

I turn on my side and beckon him to kiss me again, “It’s on me, you absolute nightmare,”

He kisses me chastely once, and then I reach for him before he pulls back. “I’m gonna be late, and then I’ll be fired and end up as your cooking slave.”

“Sounds like a plan” I say.

He shoves at my shoulder and kisses the top of my hair once before tossing his backpack over his shoulder and leaving me and our child alone in his home.  
-  
I’ve been here for a couple of days now, and it’s the closest to a real vacation I’ve had in years. All I’ve done is read a few novels that I had been putting off and taken the dog for long walks. It helps me to think clearly. There’s so much to be sorted out…but somehow I keep thinking everything will work out on its own.

I still have to play one last set on Friday at the Club and then I can finally fuck off.

I can’t stand to see Davy for more than a few minutes ever since Simon and I became a thing. The more he tells me about his adolescence with Davy, the more I loathe him.

They’re still not talking, after what happened at Christmas, and I’m not really sure what the protocol is in these cases, so I’m just giving Snow the time he needs to either sort things out with him (which in my opinion, would be a mistake) or deciding to finally extricate himself from that situation forever.

Tonight, I’m waiting for Snow to come home from work so we can have dinner together, but he is at least an hour late. If it was someone else, I’d be royally pissed, but since it’s him, I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.

These days, I’ve been so bored I’ve actually started writing music again. It’s something I haven’t done for years, and I’m terrible at it. I’m way too slow now, but I remember it used to be simple for me to put something together during an all-nighter.

Even though I’m incredibly bored, I can’t find the motivation to call my family or have a deep talk with Simon about what’s going to happen once work starts again. He says I need to see a therapist, but I think that’s just bullshit.

I’m just thinking about that, lying sideways on the sofa when I hear the familiar knock on the door. I take a peek through the spyhole and sure enough, the only thing I can see is his bronze curls. I open the door for him.

His face goes from tired to beaming in just a second and it warms my heart, “Hello, love,”

I kiss him before letting him in. So _domestic._ “How was work?”

He lets out a long breath, “It was a shitshow, someone’s brought a very pregnant cat that literally had the kittens an hour ago.”

I can’t help but let out a bark of a laugh, “That’s insane, did you deliver them?”

He turns just for a second to lock the door, and then he waves both hands in the air, almost simulating Jazz hands. “Yep, all by myself.”

I’m not really good with pet names, it’s hard for me to get them past my throat, but for him, I’m willing to try, especially on moments like these, “Congratulations, my love.”

The smile that reaches his eyes is worth it.

Once we’re done with dinner, I head to the fridge to bring over the pint of ice cream I got him earlier today. He hasn’t seen it yet, but I think it’s going to be a pleasant surprise.

I place it on the table, along with two spoons and a couple of teacups. (Snow doesn’t have any decent bowls. Yet.)

He’s sagging on his chair, but he sits upright immediately, “What’s that?”

I wiggle my eyebrows, “This is a treat for my favourite nightmare.”

He opens it without looking at the label, and shoves his spoon right in the tub, “Mmm, cookie dough. With the cookie chunks.”

Once he’s had his fill of dessert, we pile up the dishes in the sink for later and cuddle on the couch. The telly isn’t even on, but I think he’s too sleepy to care anyway.

We both nap for a bit, drifting in and out of consciousness until he grabs my arm and turns it around to glance at my watch. I look too, over his head. It’s a quarter to eleven. 

He sits up quickly and turns to look at me, “I’m going to work again, just for a sec. I’m on call, and I said I’d check on mama cat.”

“Are you mad? At this hour?”

He shrugs, “Yeah, I’ll catch a cab.”

“No.”

I don’t like the idea of him wandering around this neighbourhood at night while he finds a taxi.

“I really have to go.”

I sit up and run a hand through my hair, “Absolutely not. I’ll drive you.”

“You sure? Cause it’s just going to take a sec,” he says.

“Snow, it’ll be the most productive thing I’ll do this week, so yes. I’m sure.”

I’ve only driven him once to work, but it’s only ten minutes away from the flat. Once we’re parked outside, Snow grabs his backpack and turns in his seat.

“Wanna wait? Or you can just go home, it’s fine,” he says.

I click my tongue, “Actually, can I come with you?”

His eyebrows shoot up, “To the hospital?”

“No, to bloody Tesco’s.”

“I don’t know about that, you’re not going to like it.”

I smile, “Come on, I’ll stand on the side and watch. I’ve never seen you work.”

He scoffs, “You’ve seen me taking care of Muppet. I bathe him and trim his nails in your face.”

“That’s hardly work,” I reply.

“Oh, piss off. Come on, then. Let me show you a real job.” He opens his door and slams it. I follow him. 

I laugh, “Are you actually pissed off?”

He’s serious for a second before he chuckles, “No, but let me show you a big boy job, academia scum.”

He lets me in via the backdoor. 

Most lights are off, and he doesn’t bother turning them on, but I’m hot on his heels. We pass a few offices, and then a couple of glass doors for rooms that are lined with cages of different sorts. Once he reaches the right door, he uses a keycard to unlock it. 

I haven’t seen that card before, but I can faintly make out a photo of him on it. 

“Let me look at that,” I whisper in the dim light.

He knits his eyebrows together for a second and looks down at his hand, “Oh, this is my employee card,” he says as he extends it towards me.

He looks almost the same than he does right now, except for the buzzcut. _Simon Snow Salisbury._ Underneath it reads: _Veterinary Assistant._

“I didn’t know you used to cut your hair like that.”

He shrugs, “I used to do it often when I was moving between homes as a kid. Then it sort of stuck. Actually, it’s about time I get it buzzed now.”

“No!” I whine like a petulant child, “I mean if you want to go for it. But I like it long.”

He clicks his tongue, “Mm. I’ll think about it.”

I look down, trying not to whine again. I love his long curls. I love the way they feel when I card my fingers through them while we cuddle, or when he lets me pull on them in bed…

He snaps me out of my wayward thoughts, “Which reminds me, you’re going to have to put your hair up, she’s just had surgery.”

I fish my elastic from the front pocket of my jeans, “Sure, you’re the boss here.”

“I wish,” he mumbles under his breath as I tie my hair back in a sloppy bun. 

He hands me a surgical mask and then covers his nose and mouth with his own. He slides on a pair of latex gloves and then gestures me to come inside.

“Stand behind me, yeah?” he says quietly, “don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper back.

He turns to look at me and winks smoothly. My stomach does a backflip. How can he be so casually attractive?

I watch, almost enthralled, as he opens a large cage and starts talking to a big black cat, “Hello, my new mama.”

The animal hisses at him, but he presses on until she lowers her head and lets him caress her carefully, “How are you feeling, Rosie?”

He carries her until he reaches the metal table in the centre of the room. The cat meows back twice, “Hmmm, that’s nice. Let me see your wound, my love.”

For a split second, I’m jealous that his patients get _my_ affectionate Snow all day long. Then I remind myself they’re small animals and not actual humans. 

Once he manages to get her on her back, he uses a small flashlight to look properly at the stitches. He cleans the wound quickly and then he checks the cat’s temperature.

He looks hot, all focused and quiet while he continues with a full physical exam. I feel myself flushing and then I try to focus my eyes elsewhere, but they keep drifting back to him. His movements are surprisingly coordinated and smooth. I wonder if this is what he means when he says he loves to watch me play. 

His patient seems to have given up on fighting, which is rare if you consider she’s a cat, but she seems bored if anything.

“Okay, looks like Rosie is ready to be with her kittens, yeah?”

“Is she, Snow?” I ask.

He nods vigorously, “Yeah, we had to keep them apart for a bit because she was still drowsy. She could have crushed them. It was an emergency C-Section.”

My mouth forms an O Shape, “I literally didn’t even know they could have c-sections.”

“Yeah. I’m telling you. Real job.”

I ignore his dig, so he continues babbling, “They’re there, in that tiny cage,” He points at the cage next to the one Rosie was in. They’re terrifying. I could easily confuse them with rats if i wasn’t wearing my contacts.

We’re back in the car now after he carefully transferred the kittens from one cage to another and locked up the place properly.

“Not gonna lie, Simon, that was proper hot.”

He chuckles, “Have you lost your marbles? I literally just took you to a place that smells like cat’s piss.”

I shrug, “I like how you look all focused while working. I like you.”

His smile falters for a second but then he recovers and leans in for a quick snog in the parked car.

He’s so happy with his job and thinks such lovely thoughts about everything, that in comparison, he makes my life seems shitty. 

His simple, no eccentricities, no-constant-urge-to-impress-anyone way of living life is such a big breath of fresh air. 

I don’t recall ever loving someone this much.

#####  Simon 

I wake before my alarm goes off. It’s still dark outside. I pat on the bed, searching for Baz. He’s not here, which is rare as he usually sleeps until after I’m gone.

I sit up, but he’s not in the bathroom either because the door is open and there’s no light coming from the inside. I throw on a sweatshirt from my pile of clothes and head outside of my bedroom to find him.

He’s not in the hallway, and he’s not at his keyboard. The long curtains flail around, and I notice the balcony is open. I spot him outside, sitting in one of the plastic chairs. He’s wearing my black sweatshirt over his pyjamas. At first, I think he’s asleep, but as I approach his back, I can hear him softly sobbing. 

I’m outside and kneeling next to him in a second. The breeze coming from the sea is pretty chilly, and I’m worried that he might catch a cold.

He barely reacts. I thumb a lone tear away from his pretty face, “What’s wrong, love?”

He doesn’t reply, so I stand and wrap my arms awkwardly around him. I lean down to kiss his temple, and I can feel the exact second he breaks. His sobs become louder, and he buries his face on my chest.

“Shh, it’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m so sorry, Simon. I am. I just-“ he barely says, between sobs.

I rub his back rhythmically. It breaks my heart to see him like this, but I try hard to hold back my own tears anyway. This isn’t about me. This is his moment, not mine.

“Nothing I-I do feels like it’s enough.”

“You’re enough, Baz. For me, for your family, for everyone who gets to see how bloody perfect you are.”

“I-It’s not. I’m not.”

He lets me hold him like this for a long time while his sobs become softer and softer until they finally disappear. Muppet finds us and howls before climbing in Baz’s lap. He’s got the saddest expression on his round eyes. I think he dislikes seeing Baz sad as much as I do.

I kneel again to level my face to his and place both hands on his cold cheeks, making him look at me,

“Go. I’ll be here when you come back. Same address. Muppet will still _love_ you. And so will _I_.”

I don’t realise what I’ve said until he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You love me?” He barely whispers.

I search his eyes, and finally, I let all the love I’ve been hoarding in my heart finally escape me, “Of course I do. I clearly do. I love you, so much,”

His eyes blaze, and then he kisses me. Something in the way he’s not letting me break apart to breathe lets me know he feels the same way, but I still have to give him a way out. 

Once I manage to break apart, I mumble against his lips, “I’ve loved you almost since we met. You don’t have to say it back, right now or ever. I won’t be sad.”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. Even when his grey eyes are infinitely sad, he still manages to look fierce, “I love you, Simon. I’ve been holding back. I didn’t think you wanted to hear it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?

“I was scared you’d think I was too intense. We’re morons, aren’t we?” He shakes his head and continues, “We’ve been dancing around those words for months now.”

“Yeah,” I say weakly because his lovely eyes are taking my breath away.

He kisses me for a bit, slowly, while dawn starts taking over the dark sky.

I break apart just enough, “Promise you’ll think about it, yeah? Now’s a perfect time. Ask for leave. Go. See an online therapist,”

He shakes his head, “I can’t leave. Not now.”

“You can. I’d wait a lifetime for you. I waited for twenty-five years. What’s one more?”

He sounds defeated as he says, “You’ll forget I exist, and then you’ll find someone who’s actually good for you.”

I jut out my chin, “How could I? You’re the best thing I’ve ever stumbled upon,” I say.

“I love you. But I can’t promise you anything,” He says against my mouth.

I finally let my lips silence him. For right now, this small, stolen agreement is a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’m back with chapter seven. My feelings are all over the place because I’ve just written a very _heartbreaking_ scene for chapter 8. (hint: there’s a wedding involved) Hopefully, it’ll go up tomorrow or on Monday!! And then it’ll be done.
> 
> Yeah. So meanwhile, have more fluff. (*runs away and hides*)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s reading this story!!! I’ve put so much of my heart in it, that it truly makes me happy to see your comments.
> 
> -MP


	8. Can you play me a memory?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 If you wanna have your heart broken, sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s my favourite one shot.) (she's a terrific writer)

#####  Baz 

I can’t help but choke up as I help Dev do his tie properly. I know it’s not like anything is going to change, but it’s a cathartic experience to watch my cousin-slash-longtime-best-mate get married.

I tug one last time and Niall passes him his tailcoat. There are also a couple of his Uni friends getting ready with us in Dev’s childhood bedroom. We’ve been here all morning, reminiscing of our favourite moments with Dev and toasting to him with Champagne.

This is where we grew up, first it was only Dev and I, and then when we started boarding school Niall joined us. We spent countless hours plotting and messing around and finding activities to keep us busy during long, boring summers, which eventually led to illegal drinking and then to not coming here at all.

Dev’s stag party was a joke. It was held at my place, and he got ten of his best mates together on a Friday night. Simon sat that one out too.

“You should go without me,” he said grinning.

I shifted in the sofa to look at him, “Why? Dev’s invited you personally. Just come with us.”

“Nah. Have some real fun, y’ know.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Are you asking me to cheat on you?” I asked. 

His cheeks reddened immediately, “Uh, No. I’m just saying that if you wanna get a lap dance or something, go for it,”

I couldn’t contain my laughter, “Simon, there’s probably going to be only girls, if there even are any. We’re only going to get pissed and talk about back when we used to be rascals.”

I climbed in his lap, “Besides, darling, the only lap dance I’d enjoy receiving, would be one from you,” I said in his ear.

Needless to say, the conversation was done there and then it led to some phenomenal living room sex. The stag party started as a prim affair. We tasted some artisan beers because that’s what Dev has been into lately, and then we chatted about the best people we’ve dated and our worst dates until one of Dev’s friends from Uni said the pizzas had arrived.

Which was odd because I had personally organised to have catering delivered, and then he opened the doors and yeah.

Strippers. Five of them, dancing in my living room in lingerie. I was thankful for my queerness until they brought in two male strippers for me and Jack, another gay bloke. (I found out that later because he told me.)

I hated every second of it but at the same time, I couldn’t stop laughing. All of the strippers coordinated to perform a dance number of some sort, and then proceeded to dance on whoever’s lap was available. I crossed my legs to try and make it more obvious that I wasn’t down for it, so Jack got the two of them.

Dev was cackling and everyone had a fun time. Niall recorded the whole thing on his phone and of course, he sent it to Simon. He just chuckled. Neither of them was anywhere near as fit as Simon is, so it was easy to just ignore them.

Simon could have gotten ready with us, too. Dev even asked him, but he said it’d be too weird if both of us were groomsmen, so he decided to attend as a my date. He’s still in his assigned room, probably pacing around and thinking about the menu. When my aunt assigned us separate rooms, I truly wanted to laugh, but I held back for her sake. We slept together anyway, once Dev’s mum went to bed.

Muppet is here too because neither of us have the heart to ditch him for the weekend in the flat or take him to a pet boarding kennel. He’s been enjoying himself since we got here last night, running around the stables and messing with the horses and house dogs.

The other two groomsmen are refilling our champagne glasses for one final toast before we head to the church when there’s a knock at the door.

Dev opens it and is quickly enveloped by a set of familiar arms.

“Congratulations,” mole splattered hands pat my cousins back, “you look great. Danna is going to faint when she sees you, mate.”

I try hard not to sneer because well, Dev is my cousin. My cousin who’s getting married today, so I don’t think I should feel the pang of jealousy I feel in my stomach. It takes me a second to get over it.

Dev is grinning as he closes the door, and then Simon Snow is standing just a few feet from me, wearing a grey three piece suit that’s making it hard for me not to ask him to marry me this very second.

It’s obviously not going to happen anytime soon, but this whole thing has given me wedding fever.

We went suit-shopping a few months back, and then we helped Dev a bit with cake testing (which even Simon volunteered for). Danna said she couldn’t care less about what kind of cake was served, so she consigned us for that task. 

Then our invitation arrived, and the date was set. June 14th. I kept looking at the pretty lacy invitations and couldn’t help but wonder about how mine and Simon’s name would look in elegant calligraphy, next to each other.

Dev goes back into the room, leaving us near the door. Simon reaches his left hand for me and I take it. 

He crushes his mouth to mine, and I have no choice but to snog him back. He breaks apart and holds my face with both of his hands, careful not to touch my hair.

“You’re so fucking fit. I love how you look in that suit. I love you,” He says softly against my neck.

I melt. If It was possible, I’d be a puddle on the floor. “Shut up, Simon. Have you seen yourself?”

He kisses me again, holding my face carefully. I hear the faint flash of a camera. I forgot the photographer is here, taking aesthetic photos of Dev’s last moments as a single man.

We break apart and giggle like bloody schoolboys.

Dev claps, “Thanks for the show, guys. Now are you done, or would you like to get a room?”

The room erupts in laughter as Simon and I sit next to each other on the sofa at the foot of Dev’s bed. 

The photographer tilts her camera at us, showing us the picture. It’s lovely. Very artsy, in black and white. Only the side of our faces are visible, and our eyes are closed. Snow’s hand rests gently on my pale cheek. Tenderness practically seeps from it. For a second, I allow myself to imagine that’s what our wedding photo would look like.

“Dev, can we have that later? It’s so lovely,” Simon asks, his blue eyes sparkling.

He nods, “Sure, once I get them back, I’ll send anything I have your way.”

“Sick. Thanks, mate,” He looks at the photographer and gives her an awkward thumbs up, “It’s so nice. I love that photo. Thanks.”

She smiles, “No problem. You’re an insufferably attractive couple,” she shakes her head, “I haven’t seen one like you in a while, and I _only_ do wedding photography.”

We both blush and chuckle. I wrap an arm around Simon’s shoulder. “I know, have you seen this one?” I say, unable to keep my face from breaking into a grin. Maybe it’s the champagne.

We’re probably the most attractive couple at this wedding. Hopefully, we’re as in love with each other as we are pretty.

##### Simon 

After the ceremony, we’re back in the Grimm Mansion. It’s huge. The style is quite different from Baz’s childhood home, though. This one has more of a French feel to it. The walls are white, and the ornaments are either golden or made of light wood. Baz said the Grimm’s are farmers, so maybe that’s why. It’s very opulent, anyway. 

Dinner is being served as a live band plays all sorts of music, but mostly it’s romantic songs. Penny and Micah are next to me, talking animatedly and tucking into their dinner.

I couldn’t help but swoon when Baz played the piano for Dev and Danna’s first dance.

He said he was going to take a piss. Fiive minutes later, the couple arrived, and then they walked to the middle of the wooden dance floor amidst the applause from the guests. A kiosk was set up here in the lawn for the wedding, and that’s where the dance floor and the band is located.

I looked up as I heard piano music, and sure enough, Baz was the pianist leading his cousin’s first dance. He winked at me from where he was sitting. I don’t really know the name of the song they danced to, but it was quite slow, allowing the newlyweds to sway against each other. 

This is only the first wedding I’ve ever attended and I can’t help but imagine if this is what ours is going to be like.

I’m getting a little ahead of myself, but I don’t think I’m going to fall like this for anyone else. It’s obviously not a smart idea to get married after less than a year of dating, but maybe in the far future, we’ll have a wedding too.

I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t like this. It’s beautiful, but maybe it’s a bit too posh for my liking. Hell, I’d marry Baz in the courthouse in my jeans if he asked me to. The only thing that matters is that he’s the only one I’d get married to. 

Although he carries my flat’s key on his keychain now and I, for some unknown reason have my own set of keys for his Kensington flat too, we still haven’t talked about living together. I guess there’s no way for it to happen. We’re both tied to different places. He doesn’t want me to quit my job because he knows I love that hospital, and I don’t want him to give up his teaching position either.

I guess only time can tell.

Now that the first three courses of dinner have been served, I can’t help but pout. The food is delicious, but the portions are minuscule. 

Baz leans in and softly says, “Snow.” 

I look at him, accentuating my pout as I’m served the smallest piece of cake I’ve seen in my life.

“It’s tasty, but I’m still kinda hungry,”

He smiles and sets his wine glass back on the table, “Don’t worry love. At our wedding, there’ll be enough food for you,”

We’re both quiet for a second and I see the flush creeping down his cheeks, and then his ears.

“Did you just-?”

He exhales loudly, “Sorry, I-that was a mistake. I’m not saying you have to marry me.”

He tosses his napkin next to his plate and looks down, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s not about you.” I reply.

He nods, “Noted. I get it. It’s fine,” he picks at his cake with his spoon, “Trust me, I wasn’t running to Cartier for the ring.”

My eyes are watering in the worst way possible. I look around, but none of the other guests seems to notice. I place my hand on his thigh, “What I’m trying to say, is that I don’t know why you’d put yourself through that.”

Finally, his grey eyes meet mine, “What the fuck do you mean?”

I shrug, “You know, I have no name, no estate, not much to give you,” I swallow down the knot in my throat, “I don’t even have a family who could attend, yeah?”

“Do you think that I care about any of that?”

He shakes his head like I’ve gone mad, but I press on, “I can’t bring anything to the table, except for being a stupid bloke that loves you.”

It’s such a heavy conversation to have at a place this crowded, but the can of worms has already been opened, so I guess it’s better to be open about it. I’ve thought about it abstractly, and it’d be such a bad deal on Baz’s end. 

He places his hand over mine, “That’s more than enough. I love you for you. I don’t give a shit if we have to move to your place forever, although frankly, mine would be more appropriate for our child, you know,” he says softly.

A lone tear escapes me, “You could do better.”

He reaches out his hand and thumbs my tears away, “Yes. Undoubtedly, and so could you. But I want to be your family.”

That’s such a heart-warming thing to hear. It’d be nice to have a family at last. Someone to come home to. Shared dreams and goals. A permanent place for both of us.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll do that,”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Simon…”

“Relax, not now. Obviously not. But maybe in a few years?”

He leans in and kisses my cheek quickly. He’s still holding my hand under the table. “Believe it or not, I’d like to do things the traditional way. When we’re ready we’ll just know,”

“Sounds nice,” I return to my cake and grab my spoon. As an afterthought, I add, “If I don’t become a Pitch, I’m suing.”

He chokes on his wine, “Davy is the one who’s going to sue us, love.” 

I shrug, “Don’t know, don’t care.”

It should scare me to death to think about a relationship this way. Like it's already permanent. Particularly, because it’s only been seven months. With Baz, the speed we’re going at feels natural. I know it’s not wise to rush through the good things, but I think I knew since the night we met that we were endgame.

It doesn’t feel like we’re racing to get to a destiny. It feels like we’re speeding through the bad stuff, trying to avoid bumps and obstacles to continue riding on forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm back with another chapter!♥️
> 
> So, basically @WO2Ash and I worked super hard on this chapter, and last night we realised it was another 7k word monster, so she helped me find a way to split it up! So there'll be an update every day until Wednesday :) I'm SO excited for you to read these chapters, as they're where snowbaz come to a fork in their road!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter :))
> 
> Check out my [tumblr ](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/)for Snowbaz shenanigans!
> 
> Love,  
> MP


	9. Can you play me a memory? II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 If you wanna have your heart broken, sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s my favourite one shot.) (she's a terrific writer)

#####  Baz 

After dinner, I leave our table to go around other tables, saying hello to my extended family. It’s not very pleasant, but it’s something Father asked me to do, so I have to comply.

I asked Simon to come along, but he said he’d rather die before meeting all those posh people, so he and his friends stayed seated at the table, abusing the open bar.

I walk around the lawn, following the paths of roses that have been set between the tables. I start with my three aunts, old traditional ladies. 

One of them grabs my arm, “We’ve seen the arm candy you’ve brought, Basil,” she says, animatedly. 

I feel myself flushing, “Yeah, that’s my boyfriend.”

I’m surprised by how little they care about my queerness.

Aunt Mary coughs and elbows her sister, “What a stud. So gorgeous. What does he do for a living?”

I lean down so I don’t have to shout over the music, “He’s a vet, he graduated university not too long ago,”

“Aha, likes them young,” she says before chuckling. It’s embarrassing, “He’s not very bright either, is he?”

I feel anger bubbling in my stomach. He’s neither younger than me nor dumb. If they only knew how much he’s done for me. I’m about to reply, but they talk over me. 

“Well, nothing wrong with wanting a pretty toy to come home to. Just make sure he’s not a gold digger,” Aunt Mary says, her voice stern.

Well, fuck. Now I’m properly angry, “Get a prenup. That’s a good idea, Basil,” Aunt Sophie adds.

I straighten myself up. I’m done with this conversation, “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have much more interesting stuff to attend to. Hope your divorce went well, Mary.”

I hear their collective gasps, but I don’t bother letting them reply. I move on to where Father is talking in a circle with his friends. This is a tough one because a lot of politicians and businessmen are here. Dev didn’t intend to invite them, but I guess my uncle made him do it.

They’re all smoking Cuban cigars. As soon as I approach them, they offer me one. Out of politeness, I accept it. 

Snow’s going to have a field day nagging me about it once he smells my breath. 

Father introduces me, his voice filled with pride “You’ve all met my boy, Basil. He’s just graduated with his PhD.”

Everyone pats my back and congratulates me. I hate it when people see me just as a degree. They know what I do for a living or the car I drive, and immediately I turn into a subject of discussion.

One of my uncles, an old politician pats my back, “I wish I was your age, son. The world is your oyster. Girls, uhh, blokes must throw themselves at you,”

The group erupts in laughter, agreeing with him, “I used to date a girl I thought was the one, but then she couldn’t handle a slip-up, and everything went to shit,” he says.

Charles Mann, one of Father’s associates interrupts him, “Can you blame him? That secretary was a goddess.”

I can’t even pretend to laugh. Cheating is gross and completely off-limits for me.

“But you know, maybe you’ll end up like me. You don’t need love at all. Once the millions start rolling into your account, you’ll forget about it. The important thing here is to start weaving you into the government.”

“I don’t think I’m going down that route, sir. I like academia infinitely more,” I say, jutting my chin out as Simon does.

He shakes his head, “Don’t be a softie. The idea of teaching is very poetic, I know. You’re just like Natasha. She never cared about money, even when she was clearly loaded. She cared about knowledge.”

Charles continues as I take a drag from my cigar, “This one,” he points at Father. “Went completely soft for her. They both were obsessed with each other.” 

Father shakes his head, places a hand over his heart and then looks at the sky. It’s nice to know that at least my parents were in love.

“You also look a lot like her. But it's true, the world is your oyster. Don’t waste your time being sad and moaning around over things you can’t have. Don’t put your wallet in the hands of a boy who’s going to throw it all away.”

I look down and nod. I know that’s not who Simon is, but I can’t be arsed to argue with them. 

Another banker with completely white hair chimes in, “That’s correct. Work until you can’t, Basil. You can sleep when you’re dead. Maybe marry a nice score and keep them at home. Adopt a kid or something, to have a legacy. But break your back for as long as you can.”

I nod again and take another long drag. 

“I’ve seen your son, Malcom. I know he’s brilliant. I know he’s talented. We’re all expecting greatness from him.” Charles says.

The conversation drags on about women and kids and their holidays in Bora Bora. It’s making me feel terribly overwhelmed. I’m starting to feel breathless, like every word they add suffocates me. There are so many expectations to meet. Everyone seems to think I can be as great as Father or my mother, but the truth is that I only want to lie down and laugh next to the man I love.

Time seems to be ticking, and the older I get, the more I’ll disappoint everyone around me. I can’t breathe. 

I don’t want to get involved in politics. I don’t want to work in a bank. I don’t want to be benefitted by nepotism and get an easy desk job. The millions I might make be damned. It’s not why I studied economics.

I studied to learn. During my PhD, I fell in love with teaching and transmitting knowledge to future generations. A year after that, I fell in love with a man who would laugh at the conversation I’m hearing, and then he’d get really sad for their families.

I exchange pleasantries and dash back to him.

Along the way, I’m stopped a few times by acquaintances, and I’m showered with praise on Dev’s first dance (I wrote the piece myself).

Questions about my career and where I’m heading now that I’m done with school. 

Comments about my hot boyfriend or questions about when I’m going to start having kids. 

It’s just very overwhelming, and it makes me feel worse about myself. About how I’m not doing anything that I’m expected to.

When I come back to our table, none of my friends are in sight. I grab a glass of wine from a waiter’s tray and then head towards the dance floor.

Sure enough, Simon is occupied by Mordelia. They’re dancing to an upbeat song like they’re best friends. With her high heels, she’s nearly as tall as he is. The rush of affection that overwhelms my chest makes a smile return to my face. 

I touch his shoulder and he flinches.

“Am I interrupting something?” I say.

Mordelia raises an eyebrow at me, “Actually, you are,” she replies, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to finish dancing to _September._ ”

My jaw drops, but I raise my glass to them and lurk at the bar. A minute later, Simon slips his hand into mine once Uptown girl starts playing.

##### Simon 

“Hey, you got lost for a bit,” I say near his face, “Everything okay?”

He nods weakly, “Tiptop. Let’s dance, Snow,”

He doesn’t give me a chance to reply as he drags me to the dance floor, right where Dev is. Penny and Micah are with them, and they’re all pissed. They’re dancing like the world is going to end tomorrow. So, we join them.

Baz is doing his best to follow along, but I can tell his heart is not in it. He refuses to call it a night, so I try to make the best of it, participating in group photos and whatnot. Still, it’s hard to get him to crack a smile.

I guess he’s saving whatever is bothering him for a more private setting.

##### Baz 

It’s the end of the party, and everyone has either gone to sleep or is completely drunk. There are still a few couples left on the dance floor, including my cousin and his new wife. Bunce and Micah are lost somewhere. They were definitely drunker than we are.

Snow’s surprisingly sober for the amount of alcohol he’s been drinking all night. I stopped drinking a while ago because with how I’m feeling it’d just lead to disaster.

I still tried to power through and have fun at the wedding for my cousin and my boyfriend.

The slow songs started playing a while ago, but we’re watching couples dancing from a corner. I can tell that he’s tired, but he’s trying hard to stay with me.

 _Into my arms_ , one of Fiona’s favourite songs, starts playing. I extend my hand towards him.

I look into his ordinary blue eyes, “Come on, one last dance and then we can crash.”

He nods eagerly, “Yeah, okay.”

It’s the song that perfectly describes how I feel about Simon, so I pull him close to me. He’s got no idea about how many times I’ve played this for him as he sleeps soundly.

He buries his face in my neck and tightens his arm around my shoulder. Then, he kisses his favourite spot near my ear and that makes a shiver run up my body. He’s terrible at slow dancing, but I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.

“I love you,” he whispers in my ear.

 _“But I believe in love. And I know that you do too. And I believe in some kind of path, that we can walk down, me and you.”_ I croon along with the song, near his ear.

The song comes to an end, and we exchange soft words in our own little world. I’m making promises to him like it’s the last time we’ll share a dance. It might be, but I don’t let myself go down that route yet. By the time we’re climbing up the stairs, I’ve decided what I have to do in order to move forward.

I’m desperate to feel close to him, so once the door’s closed, I push him up against it and attack his mouth. He gives it right back, tracing his tongue along my bottom lip. Our jackets get discarded along with our ties near the bed and then he falls back onto it. He sits up for a second to kick off his dress shoes as I flick the lamp next to the bed on and drop my wallet and watch on the nightstand.

I crawl over him, and then I’m kissing a trail along the moles on his neck as I undo the buttons on his vest. 

He’s gasping for air, running his hands through my hair.

“Baz.”

I ignore him and start on his shirt. “Baz,” he mumbles with his eyes closed.

I suck a bruise on the skin of his chest as I toss his shirt at the floor. I continue my way down, placing kisses on his lower belly as I undo his belt. I pull his trousers down, along with his pants.

His voice is urgent as he says, “Stop. Stop.”

I leave the bed for a second to discard my shirt and let my trousers fall to the floor. He’s searching my face with his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he pulls on the sheets, covering himself. Then he runs both hands over his face and I already know what’s coming.

“It’s not that I don’t want to do this, but I _know_ something’s off.”

“Yeah.” Still in my pants, I sit close to him, leaning to kiss him again. He lets me into his mouth, but he slows the tilt of his chin until it turns into something soft and slow.

He breaks apart and lifts his hand to tuck my hair behind my ear.

“Come on, love, what’s wrong?”

His blue eyes are sad and almost pitiful as they search my face. All those feelings of being a misfit and a disappointment I’ve been feeling all night come creeping back in and I finally break.

As soon as the first teardrop rolls down my cheek, he wraps both arms around my shoulders. I’m so sorry for our relationship. For what I’m about to do to us. But I have to.

“I’m drowning. I can’t be here,” I say softly against his mouth.

His voice is soft and not angry, like I expected, “Shh, I know that. It’s fine.”

I look away as I say, “I’m not happy.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice sad.

I place my hands on both of his cheeks and close the distance between us with a bruising kiss. I can’t be without him, but I can’t stand to live this way for another minute. All the thoughts that keep me up at night are swirling around my brain, making me feel nauseous. _Stuck. Stuck. Failure. Disappointment. Not enough._

I pull back a few inches to look at his pretty face. His lips are swollen and damp with my own spit and they’re making everything I have to do a lot harder.

“I’ve been saying it for months. Take a year off. Think about whether you want to go down the path you’ve set for yourself,” he argues, his voice full of concern, “I know you’re not happy. I know it.” 

“But us…”

He smiles and turns his head to kiss my palm. “I’ll still be here, Baz. I’ll busy myself with work. We’ll call and text and when you’re back, we’ll still be together.”

The mere idea of never returning to his cramped flat makes my chest ache. I bury my head on his neck and let myself weep against him. 

I hate losing control like this, and maybe it’s a sign that I do need help. He’s always here to rescue me every time I hit rock bottom, but he shouldn’t need to. I feel so guilty for letting him get involved in my fucked-up life… and then leaving him like this.

After a while, I speak, my voice wobbly. “I’m so sorry.”

“About what?”

“Letting you fall for me. If I had known this was coming, I’d have left you alone.”

He snorts, “Baz. That ship sailed the moment I saw you. We were meant to be.”

He always knows exactly what to say to calm my doubts about him. “How are you so good and courageous and loyal? After the way life has treated you…”

“That’s four years in therapy because I guarantee you, I wasn’t always like this.” I feel him shrug against me. “Y ‘know, if I can’t help everyone, I still can make sure their lives aren’t worse because of me.”

I kiss his palm, “Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

“I have you and Muppet. I love my job and my few friends. Of course, there are shitty things in my life, like not having a family or a foster parent that actually acts like a Father, or even enough money to get you something nice on your birthday,”

He’s silent for a second and then I feel him nodding, “But yeah. I’m happy.”

“I wish I could feel like that,” I confess, “Nothing I do feels like it’s enough.”

“The world isn’t enough for you, Basil.” He says into my forehead.

That oddly sentimental line manages to make my soul ache. It’s a mystery to me why he thinks that highly of me. 

He kisses the top of my head before continuing, “I’ll give you my therapist’s number. We’ll figure this out.”

I climb back on top of him and straddle him. His hands find the bare skin of my sides.

“I’ll get better for you,” I finally promise him.

He nods eagerly, “If you do it for yourself, you’re already doing it for me.”

I lean down and kiss him, making a point to move my hips suggestively. One might think that I wouldn’t be up for this after the conversation we’ve just had, but if anything, it has made the need to feel closer to him stronger.

His hands toy with the waistband of my pants. He clears his throat, “You sure you still wanna do this?”

“Scoring on a wedding night? Fuck yes,” I say.

“Technically, it’s not even your wedding, but count me in.”

It must be five in the morning, but somehow, we’re still wide awake.

He lifts himself up on his forearms as I snicker. He’s laughing too, and when he tries to kiss me, our lips brush messily. I bite his lip, tug on it and his moan is enough to get us both back in the mood. I lift myself up from his hips and fish around in my wallet. 

I toss a condom at his bare chest and pull my pants down while he gets ready. I crawl underneath the sheets so I can cover his body with mine as his arms wrap around me.

“You’re going to have to be really quiet, darling.” I whisper into his ear.

He drags his fingernails softly over the surface of my bare back, “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. Half my family is sleeping down the hallway. Can you do that for me?”

His hands drift lower, “I can do quiet. I don’t know about you, though.” He whispers back.

“Cheeky. Now you’re in for it, Snow.” 

“You want on top, yeah?”He rasps, I ignore him and connect my mouth with his for a second.

Once we break apart, he winks at me from where he’s underneath me and squeezes my hips gently. I take it as my cue to position myself so he can reach between my legs. 

Once I’m ready, I let myself go as he guides me down with his hands and then I’m awash in his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm back with another update :)
> 
> This chapter includes a very special line, originally written by Pai61♥️ "The world isn't enough for you." Pai, thank you a so much for your constant support on all of my works. It truly means the world to me! Hope you like this chapter, this one is for you :)
> 
> Love,  
> MP
> 
> P.S. To everyone reading this: Don't hate me omg i'm sorry for the angst and the awkward sex scene
> 
> If you like this story, feel free to leave kudos/drop a comment because they make this human so happy!♥️


	10. Can you play me a memory? III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 If you wanna have your heart broken, sure to check out her fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s my favourite one shot.) (she's a terrific writer)

#####  Simon 

After Dev’s wedding, everything has gone quite fast. Days have become a blur in my head of desperate kisses, whispered promises, planning and making love.

Baz practically moved in with me and spends every minute possible trying to fit in everything we would do in a year. The moment I’m off work I’m rushing to get home to Baz. He’s usually got a nice dinner and something planned for us to do.

We either go to the theatre or watch a film at home (which inevitably leads to sex) or go try a new coffee shop or take Muppet to a park while we talk. He’s started therapy and I can tell it’s doing him good. Slowly, he’s opening up to me about his early life.

He’s told me more about himself in two weeks than in the last few months. He’s also terribly excited about his trip. I know he tries hard to hide it because he doesn’t want me to think he’s eager to go, but I know he is. I would be.

He asked me to go with him, and it unsurprisingly led us to our first fight. We yelled at each other so viciously I was sure we were done. But once we both cooled down, we dropped the subject.

He had been quiet that morning, probably worrying to death about my response.

He finally spoke, after an hour of comfortable silence, “Snow. Come with me.”

I looked up from where I was folding my clothes next to the dresser, “Where?”

“Away, with me,” he said, his voice full of hope.

“I can’t do that. I could never afford that.”

He scoffed, “No, but I certainly can.”

I shoved my jeans into the drawer, “I couldn’t- that wouldn’t be right.”

He’s going to visit at least ten countries. The airfares, the hotels, the meals…I could never ask him to do that for me.

He sat up in bed and looked at me, an eyebrow lifted smugly, “Not to be a wanker or anything, but my trust fund hovers around the six-figure mark.”

“Nice info. It would have been nice to know if I had asked you to tell me about it,” I spit.

“Snow.”

I slammed the drawer shut and continued ignoring him.

“Snow. Could you at least look at me?”

I looked up, raising an eyebrow, “Why? I’m done with this subject.”

“Take it as a gift. I can book everything double.”

I don’t know why, but I felt angry. Not particularly at him, I just did. About him saying stuff like that, like it’s _that_ easy. Like I didn’t spend my childhood eating whatever the homes provided us or sometimes nothing at all. Like I didn’t have to work since I was fourteen to buy whatever I needed.

Meals. Earphones. A crappy mobile phone. New trainers after years of wearing the same pair. Him talking about money like that brought back the worst memories of being dirt-poor. Sure, Davy would give me a place to sleep in, but nothing else.

“Put that money to good use, maybe a children’s home or someone who actually needs it,” I said bitterly.

I left the room, but he followed me, raising his voice, “Fuck off, you know I didn’t mean any of it like that.”

I shrugged, “I know. I don’t care.”

“Look. I’m asking you because I don’t want to be without you,” he said, his grey eyes blazing, “Not because I want to brag or impress you.”

“I can’t and I won’t go. I can’t leave my job. I’ve nearly finished my internship. I’m days away from being a fully qualified vet, not just an assistant. I know that’s not the same as being a professor, but to me, it’s a big deal.”

He grabbed both of my hands, “Stop talking like that. It’s a big deal to me, too.”

“Well then respect why I can’t.”

At that moment, it occurred to me that maybe he was trying to test me. To see if I’d jump at the first chance of a free trip. Maybe he thought I’d try to weasel my way into the trip and take advantage from his position.

“Simon,” he whined.

“Are you plotting something?” 

He dropped my hands and rolled his eyes, “What? What the fuck would I be plotting?”

“Maybe you want to prove I’m a gold-digger,” I spit, “But guess what? If someone’s living off someone, it’s you.”

He shook his head and looked down, “Unbelievable. You think I’d want to sleep on your shitty mattress willingly?”

I stayed silent. Of course, I had been wrong.

“Answer me, Simon,” His voice started becoming angrier as he continued, “If you don’t want me here, I can fucking leave.”

“I-Baz-“ I stammered.

“Say something,” he ran a hand through his hair desperately, “You know what? Fuck this.”

He grabbed his keys and was out of the door before I could even react.

An hour later, he was back in my arms and we were both apologising.

In hindsight, it was extremely stupid of me to go down that tangent. My stupidity becomes more and more evident when I think about the uncomplicated and honest love Baz has shown me consistently since we first started dating.  
-

Soon enough, our time is up, and I’m trying to swallow down the knot in my throat as I drive him to the airport. He requested me to drive him in the Jag and then take it back to his flat. (He said I could keep it for the year.) (I laughed in his face.)

We’re both quiet and exhausted. Not to mention the growing hangover that is starting to set in. Dev hosted a going-away party with everyone Baz loves, including his aunt Fiona. It was bittersweet. We talked all night and went through numerous bottles of wine.

Then Baz and I went up to the flat and spent the rest of the night between our sheets, trying to get sick of each other. It was painfully soft and desperate. We both tried to leave our hearts in that bed. There was enough kissing and gasping and moaning to last for a year. 

By the time our emotions were raw and we were spent, we only had two hours left to sleep before Baz had to leave for the airport.

We go through the motions of checking in and security silently. Baz bought me a ticket for a domestic flight so I could be with him until the last minute. Figures. I didn’t even know that until we got here.

Once we’re at the right gate, we stand away from the crowd near a corner. 

I grab both of his hands. At this point, worrying about PDA seems like the least important thing in the world.

I can tell he’s on the verge of tears again by the way his lip is quivering. (He cried when we left Muppet waiting for me back at his flat. Both of them were unable to let go of each other, and I was too sad to watch, so I waited outside.)

“You know, Snow. I can still call this off and stay,” he breathes.

“I know. But I’d never ask that of you.” I lean forward and tuck his black hair behind his ears, “You’ve come so far, my love.”

A tear escapes him, so I throw my arms around him. 

He starts blubbering against the side of my face, “I’m going to miss you terribly,” his arms wrap around me so tightly it hurts. “This isn’t the end. Don’t let go of us, alright? I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Yeah. I won’t. You know I won’t,” I say into his neck.

“If anything happens, I’m always a call away. I promise I’ll pick up,” he kisses the top of my head twice, “I’ll always care. Anything that involves you, I’ll worry about it.”

I nod against him. It’s now or never. I need him to know this, so I let him go to look at his grey eyes. I make my best effort to commit them to memory. Hopefully, the memory of them looking at me like this will be enough to get me through the year.

“I know you’re going to hate this, and before you start, I’m not breaking up with you.” 

His face falls anyway, “Si-“

I place a finger against his lips to shut him up, “But I need you to be sure of this when you come back, yeah?” he nods and I press on. “So if by chance you find yourself in a situation where you want to snog a stranger or something, do it.”

His retort is quick, “If I wasn’t so fucking devastated about leaving you, I’d be yelling, Snow. You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah. But I wanted you to know that you’re still free to change your mind. I won’t be miffed, I won’t care. I’ll still wait, yeah?”

He nods, “On the odd chance that I do something like that, you'll hear it from me. But you have to know that when I come back-”

“Baz,” I warn him.

“When I come back, if you’re still in love with me,” I know what’s coming, so I fix my eyes on his. I can’t miss his expression, “I’m marrying you, alright?”

“Yeah?” I say, dumbly.

Even though I was expecting those words, I find myself gasping and leaning my head up, hoping that he seals his promise with a kiss. He does. I don’t want to take this declaration as a given, but I still can’t help the warm feeling that floods my body at the mere idea of making this permanent.

“So quit trying to give me ways out of our relationship. Stop trying to break Muppet and me apart.”

I chuckle weakly against his lips. I feel my tears rolling down my cheeks.  
“We’ll miss you so fucking much. He’s going to lose it when you’re not there to give him posh treats every time he breathes.”

His lovely mouth turns downwards. I don’t think it’s possible for him to look worse, “Don’t. Don’t say that. I love both of you so much.”

I throw myself at him again and kiss him fiercely. I try to savour it and treasure this moment simultaneously. I'll cherish it during the long winter that my life is going to become without him in it. 

After a long time stalling, his flight to Argentina is announced one last time and he lets my hand go. I watch him as he scans his boarding pass and they check his passport. I’m clutching my arms around myself, to try to keep my heart together. 

He turns around one last time before getting on the jetway to wave goodbye. I take his long hair in. It's down to his shoulders and loose around his pale face. I go over his long, lean body one last time. He's wearing my favourite pair of jeans and my old uni sweatshirt.

In that outfit, he looks much younger than his 26 years of age. He still takes my breath away, just like that first night, when I saw him at his piano.

“I love you,” He mouths at the air.

I blow him a kiss. He catches it and presses it to his heart.

And then he turns his back to me. 

He’s gone. I cry all the way to the Jag, and then all the way to his flat. It’s unsafe to drive like this, but I can’t help it. 

I don’t think I’ve ever mourned someone like this. 

For some unknown reason, this feels like a final goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! This is the last part of this chapter :) I'm so excited for you to read this now that it's complete !! The entirety of these three chapters is probably one of the most sentimental things I've written and that final goodbye is one of the first scenes I came up with when I first thought of writing this :)
> 
> Love,  
> MP
> 
> f you like this story, feel free to leave kudos/drop a comment because they make this human so happy!♥️


	11. Better than drinking alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/) (omg! The second chapter just dropped): 
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 Make sure to check out her fantastic fic, [Summer Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879271) (It’s my favourite one shot.) (she's a terrific writer):
> 
> Check out my [tumblr!](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/)

##### Baz 

The waitress places a tall cappuccino on my table next to the window. I dump two packets of sugar in it, smiling at the thought of Simon’s appalled facial expression every time I did this in front of him. 

It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve been away and my feelings are all over the place, as usual.

Part of me misses Snow every second of the day. In hindsight, being glued to him right before I left wasn’t a smart thing to do. 

I wouldn’t have done things any differently if I was given the chance.

The other part of me has been completely immersed in the culture, going to every museum I can, checking out local universities, and reading as many novels as I can. I even played an old piano at a bar I was in just last night.

I don’t know why I did it. I guess it had been a while, and it made me happy seeing the crowd get into the music and request their favourite songs. Mostly, they were classics, so it was like being back at Davy’s Club minus the shitty owner and Simon in the corner.

I chose to start in South America because there was an Economics Summit in Argentina, so it gave me somewhere to start. I wasn’t planning to go, but I also needed the metaphorical life-jacket that this opportunity represented.

It gave me a date to start and a place to work my way up to America. It was also interesting to see the workings of my field in a completely different environment, so it was a good choice. 

The idea was suggested by my own boss. Originally, I was going to quit working at LSE all together, but when I went to the head of the department for this, he was adamant about me asking for a sabbatical instead. 

It wasn’t what I had in mind, but he truly emphasized that taking a career break wasn’t a bad idea and that he’d be willing to take me back if I talked to him before I returned.

So, I handed in the paperwork. It felt right at the moment, but I guess I can still say no when I return. I think he was easy on me because we’ve known each other since I started university. He was my professor, and then my advisor during my Master’s. 

So far, South America has been good to me. It’s liberating to know that no one knows my name here, no one knows what I’m up to. If I’m doing something touristy just for the hell of it, no one bats an eyelash. Some strangers even try to strike a conversation with me once they realise I’m a foreigner too. I try to play along for a bit because that’s what my therapist has been encouraging me to do.

In the beginning, our sessions were…difficult. It was hard for me to open up to her. The idea of spilling my guts out and telling a stranger how terribly I coped with my Mother’s death, and then how I just kept piling things up was straight up distressing. But she was patient, taking her time to ask the right questions, and then I started letting things flow out of me.

We still haven’t discussed my relationship with Simon. She says it’s not a priority since I told her we were perfectly fine, but I’m sure she’ll find a way to drag him into my mess too.

Snow and I…talk. Time zone differences have been making this pretty difficult, especially because he has to work and then he’s exhausted, so I try hard not to bother him when I _know_ he’s sleeping. But we text all the time. 

At first, I was reluctant to show him what I had been up to. Not because I didn’t want him to know, but I didn’t want to be in his face bragging about the delicious food I had eaten that day while he was overworked and bored in his flat.

I was worried to death about us not being able to talk about the trip, so I one night I told him. He laughed, his face glowing in my screen courtesy of Facetime.

“Baz, you’re mental,” he breathed.

“I don’t want you to think I’m having the best time without you,”

He shrugged, his white sheets falling from his shoulders, “But you are, though. It’s obvious. You don’t have to be with me to have fun, y’ know?”

“This is why I love you. You keep saying the right stuff,” I replied, feeling myself flush.

We video chat every day. When it’s midnight for him, it’s only seven for me, so I talk to him right before I have dinner. The first few nights, we’d stay up for hours, and I’d scrap my dinner plans in favour of ordering room service so I could be with him for a little longer.

But he’s been very vocal about not wanting to keep me locked up or glued to my phone, so he started cutting me off after an hour. Besides, if we kept doing that, he’d only get four hours of sleep and for me that’s unfathomable.

My phone pings, bringing me back to the present. I glance down at it. A couple of texts start rolling in one after another, covering my screensaver. (It’s Snow and I snogging before Dev’s wedding.) I lift it a little so I can unlock it with the Face ID feature.

17:31 p.m. Dev Grimm: hey um  
17:31 p.m. Dev Grimm: everything okay at home?  
17:32 p.m. Dev Grimm: Photo

I tap on the photo and I can’t help but gasp. It’s Simon’s back, taken from afar. I’d recognise his broad shoulders anywhere. He’s leaning against the counter at the Starbucks near my flat. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s in London because it’s a Saturday. What does me in is the fact that his lovely curls are gone. Completely. It’s not that the sides are faded. They’re just gone. 

I take a sip of my coffee and tap out a response.

17:35 p.m. Baz Pitch: Fuckk  
17:35 p.m. Baz Pitch: Why are you together?  
17:35 p.m. Baz Pitch: Is he alright?

A response comes instantly.

17:36 p.m. Dev Grimm: We invited him for a coffee since we figured he’d be lonely  
17:36 p.m. Dev Grimm: He’s okay, I think. Same as ever  
17:37 p.m. Dev Grimm: Just without the frizzy mess on his head

I roll my eyes. His hair is not frizzy. In fact, It’s very soft to the touch. I wonder if he got it cut yesterday, and that’s why he insisted on a voice call instead of facetiming as usual. 

17:40 p.m. Baz Pitch: Is Niall there, too?  
17:40 p.m. Baz Pitch: don’t tell him I know. I want to see if he’s going to volunteer the information later.

It’s strange to me to think that my own family likes him enough to hang out with him. He’s truly integrated himself into my life. No one had ever wanted to meet my family, much less spend time with them of their own accord.

17:41 p.m. Dev Grimm: Yep, the whole gang  
17:41 p.m. Dev Grimm: Photo

I can see Niall, flipping me off and Penelope draped over the American. I can’t see his face, but it must be him, judging by the hideous polo shirt he’s wearing. For some reason, it tugs at my heart to see them like that, together and happy.

17:43 p.m. Baz Pitch: All of you owe me a coffee now.

I set my phone down and continue with my novel, enjoying this Saturday afternoon as the locals buzz around me with the excitement of a much-needed weekend. 

Hours later, when I’m in my hotel room after a long bath, Simon facetimes me. It takes quite a bit of concentration to pretend to be shocked.

“What have you done to yourself?” I whine.

A grin spreads across his face, “Dunno. I guess I needed the change. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to miss touching it.”

“I hate you so much. Complete betrayal.”

“You do?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head, “You know I don’t. I can’t believe you look fit, even like that,”

He air-kisses the camera. I hate how that little gesture makes my stomach flip and my face warm up. It’s strange, to see his face not framed by his bouncy curls. His cheekbones are more prominent, and now his eyes are the main focus of his face. They’re usually outshined by the colour of his hair, but now the blue stands out against his tawny skin.

I watch him as he proceeds to tell me about his meeting with our friends in detail, and then how Muppet seemed to be waiting for me to appear at some point since we were in familiar territory.

When he tilts his phone to the side to give me a view of our sleeping dog, my chest tightens at the sight of my tiny family, bundled up in bed, an ocean away from me.  
-

#####  Simon 

I miss Baz terribly. His absence becomes more and more painful as the weeks drift by. I try to keep myself busy during the day at work, even staying longer to avoid coming home to an empty flat.

I wonder when I became so dependent on him because I remember feeling perfectly fine on my own before I met him. 

Right now, I’m getting ready for an overnight shift when there’s a knock at the door. It’s the landlord, I can tell by the familiar knock. He always knocks so loudly you’d think he’s trying to kick the door down.

I open my nightstand’s drawer and lean over it to look for the cash I tossed in yesterday. I move around Baz’s hand lotion and his breath mints. I lift his fancy box where he keeps one of his watches and shake my head. He left all of his stuff here like he’s going to be back next week. 

I find the money tucked in one of the corners and shut the drawer as I smile at the sight of the plastic bottle of lube. _That’ll have to wait for a bit._

Muppet follows me as I open the door, scratching at it eagerly. 

My landlord is a 60-year-old man whose face always has a reddish tint to it, and he speaks just enough words to get his point across.

“Hey. I know rent’s already been paid, but I wanted to bring the receipts now that I’ve cashed the cheque.”

I frown. I don’t even have a chequebook.

“You must be mistaken, I haven’t paid for anything in advance,” I reply.

“Well, your, um, bloke did that. Mr. high and mighty,” my frown deepens, “Long-haired Dracula,” 

I swear I’m going to choke Basil once I get my hands on him. 

“Uh, yeah. I think I know,”

“I‘ve a photo of the cheque if you wanna see,” he offers, looking confused.

I nod and lean against the door as he searches through his gallery, making an effort to look away.

“Here,” he says as he shoves his phone in my face.

Of course. I recognize the elegant handwriting and his long name at the bottom. Baz signs stuff with his full name in posh cursive lettering, Tyrannus included. Figures.

My eyes scan the picture, and sure enough, the amount sums up to twelve months of rent, starting in August. This is probably what he meant when he said my birthday gift would be a mystery for a while.

He went on for days, trying to ask me what I wanted as a gift, but the only thing I could think of was cake. I already had him, so I couldn’t think of asking for anything else. He’d throw his hands in the air and yell at me to ask for something else. In the end, he agreed to a nice meal and a cake.

Apparently, paying for a year of my rent was also part of the gift. I’m going to save up these months to pay him back once he returns.

“Yeah, okay. My bad.”

The landlord shakes his head and passes me a stack of receipts, one for each month. I thank him and close the door softly. I reach for my phone and open Baz’s chat.

21:38 p.m. Simon Snow: I can’t believe you did that  
21:38 p.m. Simon Snow: I hate you, Basil  
21:38 p.m. Simon Snow: disgusting spendthrift rat

I attach a picture of the pile of receipts. I get changed and put Muppet's leash on. On nights I’m working, I take him with me because he gets quite restless if he’s alone at home. I’m picking up my keys when my phone vibrates against my back pocket.

21: 52 p.m. Piano man💙🌚: 🏠🏠🏠🏠  
21: 52 p.m. Piano man💙🌚: Happy Birthday, Snow.

I hate him so much. I try to make a point not to ask for anything from him because it’s never been about that. I think I’d be the one to ask him for a prenup if we ever got married. It makes me uncomfortable to think about spending money I didn’t work for.

I shake my head and leave for work, still thinking about his ornate signature.

#####  Baz 

I’m at another summit, now in New York City. I’ve been in America for a couple of weeks now, and so far, it’s been the most familiar place I’ve been to.

I came here with my parents once when I was fifteen, and it was a good time. It’s so different and yet so similar to the UK in some ways. It’s obviously easier to blend in with crowds in the city and the lack of a language barrier makes everything easier.

Not that South America was bad. I spent a lot of time learning the roots of their rich culture and tasting every bite of food I could get my hands on. If my jeans still fit me when I’m back home, it’ll be a miracle.

The longer I’m away, the more my suitcase fills with knick-knacks, mostly for Snow. Ornaments, mugs and keychains have definitely made their way into my bag. I buy them almost impulsively. If I can’t have him here, I can share my experience with him by bringing him something I know he’ll like.

He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to be home for the holidays. I’m hoping no one in my family snitches so I can arrive and surprise him for Christmas. 

Since we’re halfway through September, temperatures have started to drop, making my desire to go home and curl up in his arms stronger.

It’s particularly strong today. It’s my Mother’s death anniversary, and even though it’s been over twenty years, I still wake up with a broken heart every year on this day.

I can’t help but think about what I could have had been with her guiding me along. I picture her long arms wrapping around me every time I came home with a broken heart or a bruise on my face.

Still, I think today I’m extremely miserable because I won’t even be able to visit her grave. I know Fiona and Father will do it, but It’s still not the same. I’m glad I have an appointment with my therapist tonight because I’ll definitely need the extra support today.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take a quick look. Fiona is calling.

My heart starts racing. She never calls before texting me, so this must be an emergency. _Please let everyone be okay._

I exit the conference room quickly, keeping my head down and stand near the doors.

I tap the green button to answer, “Fio-,”

“You chosen one is here.”

“What on earth are you going about?” I ask.

“Here. At the graveyard. With flowers and everything.”

My heart swells. This disastrous, lovely human. I told him the date vaguely one night he talked me into telling him what I knew about my mum.

The first thing I said was “September 18th.” It’s what comes to mind when I think about my mum. The date she was ripped away from me.

I still hate the idea of having to live a life where my mother doesn’t exist anymore. 

I mentioned it to Simon once, in a whisper while we were lying under my covers as we watched the rain falling from my flat’s window and yet, there he is.

My voice is wobbly as I ask, “Uh, ah. What is he doing?”

I hear her take a drag from her cigarette. Typical Fiona. “He’s on his knees, arranging flowers and picking out dried weeds,”

I stay silent for a second. “I really don’t know what to say, Fi. I- “

“Well, for starters, you should be ring shopping.” I chuckle weakly, trying to keep my tears from escaping my eyes, “In all seriousness, Basil. He can’t be real. No one is that decent.”

“Well, that’s why I chose him, you know?”

I hear the crunch of leaves as she walks, probably away from him to go unnoticed.

“I’ll make this easy for you, boyo. If you don’t keep him forever, I will. That kid is a fucking treasure, right there,” Warmth spreads across my chest, making me flush, “Did you ask him to do this?”

“Of course not,” I snap. “I told him months ago about Mother, but that was it.”

“Yet he’s here, on a bloody Wednesday morning-“ she stops for a second and huffs, “Oh for fuck's sake. He’s talking to her grave. Literally.”

 _My love._ I talk to my mother when I visit her, too. Even if she can’t hear me, it’s nice to think that maybe she’ll know how I feel about her or the stuff I’m going through at the moment.

Fiona rambles on, “Seriously. I’m going to call him tomorrow and take him out for lunch on the weekend.”

“Yes. Okay. That sounds good.”

“Of course it sounds good, Basil. He’s going on a date with me.”

“Fiona, you aren’t even into blokes,” I argue.

She insults me before hanging up. No goodbyes. We both hate them, so we avoid them.

Strangely, my chest feels lighter. I think my Mother and Simon would have gotten along, judging by their shared love of baked foods and me.

The thought I had back when I first met Simon, of him discarding me after sleeping with me, seems distant, impossible, now that I’ve gotten to truly know him. He’s become the thing that I love the most in the world, I think.

The rest of the day, my mind drifts off to him and his coarse hands that in contrast, he uses delicately. It’s quite a juxtaposition to imagine his calloused, rough hands carefully picking flowers for me. 

The scarred skin of his knuckles softly brushing against petals and my bare skin, are enough to glue the pieces of my heart back together. 

I can’t conceive the idea of a life without him now. 

He doesn’t mention it. The whole time we facetime, he talks about Muppet and what he had for dinner, then he asks about my day. I try to prompt him to talk about it, bringing up my session with my therapist about my mother.

But he just listens to me and tries to give me advice on the things he’s also been through. At the end of our call, he reminds me that he loves me.

He doesn’t mention the fact that he probably missed work today to take the train to Hampshire. 

That’s how I know he didn’t do it to impress me. He did it because he’s courageous and inherently good like that.

-

 

Agatha’s flat is lovely, with white motives and golden accessories. She’s lived here since December, and I can tell change has suited her by the glow in her now-golden skin.

When I started planning this trip, I immediately told her. She was thrilled that I had finally ventured out of England and invited me to spend a couple of weeks with her. I had my mind set on booking a hotel room, but she insisted on me taking her guest room, so I did.

When we finally agreed on a specific date, I bought my ticket for California. It’s so different from where I was just yesterday, in Chicago. I had the chance to meet my therapist face-to-face and we spent a few long sessions working on my overwhelming fear of failure.

I can’t tell if it’s worked or I’m feeling better simply because I’m away from the constant pressure in my life.

Out of all of the friends Agatha has introduced to me during the few times I’ve been out with her, Alex and I have kicked it off straight away. He’s a lawyer who lives in the bottom floor of her building.

Tonight, I was practically dragged to a club downtown. Dancing and grinding in a club is not really my scene, so I’m more comfortable talking and drinking. In fact, I should be home, but Agatha insisted on taking me out since it’s Halloween tonight. I didn’t wear a costume though. I told her I’d rather be staked than wearing a stupid costume. 

She’s dressed as a fairy, and everyone else in the group is dressed too, except for Alex.

Alex and I sit at the bar, sharing a drink while we try to talk over the music. The rest of the group has dissipated, dancing the night away on the top floor of the club, where mainstream hits are playing one after another. He’s an inch taller than me and has lovely olive skin that contrasts with his thick dark hair that frames his face in waves.

He tells me he and Agatha met because she locked herself out of her apartment one night and he offered his couch for her to stay.

Our drinks keep being refilled and I think we’re in our fourth drink now. The fizzy cherry drink I’m having reminds me of Simon.

Simon’s mouth on mine after he’s eaten his favourite kind of scones.

Alex tells me he’s thirty and was born and raised here in California. I try not to tell him much about myself because I’m not feeling like forming lifelong bonds tonight. Still, I make an effort to keep the conversation going.

After a while, Agatha finally joins us at the bar, twirls gracefully once and winks at us as she orders herself another beer. She’s _different_ , more open, happier and less… hesitant. I can tell the change has done her well.

She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear, “You guys are getting along?”

I nod, “Yeah. Um. I might be leaving soon, though.”

“Baz, it’s only one,” she whines before taking a sip of her beer.

Mentally, I do the math. Simon must be at work by now since he’s eight hours ahead. I’ll text him in a bit once I head to the toilets.

Alex places his hand on my thigh, and I twitch involuntarily. “Yeah, stay for a bit, okay?”

I shrug, “Just for another drink, and then I’ll catch a cab.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, “You’re such a mood killer, Baz.”

I shrug. If Simon were here, we’d be on our way to buy something greasy to split in bed.

“Well, I’ll be upstairs, but let me know when you’re leaving, okay? Don’t want you wandering off without me knowing.” She scolds, shouting over the music.

I nod, “Yes mum.”

She leaves us again, disappearing into the crowd. The music is incredibly loud and the crowd is pressed up in the middle of the dance floor, bodies swaying together bathed in fluorescent lights. It’s been years since I’ve been in a place like this. I can’t say I’m having a bad time, but it’s certainly…different from what I’m used to.

I cross my legs as much as my height allows me while sitting on the stool, letting Alex’s hand fall off my thigh. I hope he gets the message this way.

His eyes shine mischievously under the fluorescent lights, “Come on, let’s play twenty questions.”

“What are we, fifteen?” I spit.

He shrugs, “I know it’s lame, but why not? It’s not like we’ll see each other again.”

I think about it for a second before accepting. At least, whatever I drunkenly tell him won’t have a real repercussion in my life. I can tell the alcohol is starting to get to me by the way my cheeks feel warm and my body feels like it’s made of jelly.

“Yes. Okay.”

He rubs his hands together, “Well, every time we answer a question, we take a sip, okay?”

Well, fuck. 

“I’m going to be so fucking pissed,” I reply as I watch his confused expression for a second before I add, “Drunk. Drunk. I’ll be extremely drunk by the end of this.”

“Well, Mr. Pitch. If you’re not drinking, then you’re not playing.” He replies, a grin spreading across his face.

I sneer, “Out with it. You go first since you’ve suggested this ridiculous game.”

The questions start pretty tame, ranging from why we chose our majors to our favourite childhood memories. I try to keep mine pretty generic and out of the romantic territory. Still, we’ve downed two more drinks since we started, so things aren’t looking up.

It’s irresponsible of me, to drink like this. But it’s been years since I have been this carefree. Even with Simon, I always worry that I’ll let something slip, and he’ll run away from me. If I drink too much and lose control, I could let him see the nasty, terrible person I can be, and he’ll be put off from me forever.

“Are you in love?” Alex asks, averting his eyes from mine.

“Yes. Very much so.” I reply firmly before placing my lips around my straw.

A smile tugs at my lips at the thought of how different my answer would have been a year ago.

Out of curiosity, I copy his question, “You?”

“Nah, I haven’t found anything I quite like as much as…” he drifts off at the end, his eyes roaming my face. It’s almost like he’s flirting with me.

"I get it. Cheers mate," I lift my drink to his, clinking our glasses together. 

I slide my phone out of my pocket and unlock it. There are texts from Simon already. 

00:48 Favourite nightmare: good morning  
00:48 Favourite nightmare: how's the party, my love????  
00:48 Favourite nightmare: BTW, Muppet's coming to work with me

I type in a quick reply, careful to watch my spelling and shove my phone back in my pocket. 

"Well, it seems like they keep you on a tight leash," Alex murmurs. 

I don’t know why, but my drunken brain delivers me a vivid memory of Simon and I shopping for Muppets new leash. We bickered over it at every single shop we went to. 

I chuckle at the memory, "No, not really. That's not Simon at all." 

He takes a swig of his drink, fixing his hazel eyes on mine, "How long have you've been together?" 

"Uhh, the day before Christmas. Yes. That's It," I reply around my smile. 

"Ah, so it's not serious then!" 

I think about the proposal speech I've written in one of my journals. I don't think I'm going to deliver it soon, but it exists. The intentions are there. 

"I wouldn't say so. I think we're pretty deep into it." I reply.

"Nah, those things never last. Intense and fast always burns out quickly, you know?" 

I _hope_ that for us, that isn’t true. 

"Next question," I say, trying to veer off the topic. 

Questions keep piling up, and I really think we’ve exceeded the number of questions he proposed at first, but it’s been fun. I’m drunk enough to run hot, so I discard my leather jacket and order a glass of water.

After a while, Alex heads to the toilet, so I take the opportunity to ask for the check. I think it’s time to head home now. It’s after three, so if I sleep for a bit, I’ll be able to facetime Simon once he gets home. If he wasn’t at work, I’d try to spark a steamy conversation, like the ones we’ve been having for weeks now.

Once I pay for my drinks, I make sure to pay for Agatha’s too and go outside to have a smoke before calling for an uber. I lean against the brick wall of the club and close my eyes.  
After three or four drags, I hear someone clear their throat next to me.

“Were you just planning on leaving like that?” Alex says.

In a very Simon-like fashion, I shrug, “Yeah.”

He takes out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lights it too, “Damn, it’s quite late now.”

“Mmm,” The world is spinning around me and I do my best to focus on the conversation before I end up vomiting. 

I have a tendency to do that when I’m really pissed and it’s embarrassing. My stomach just can’t handle the alcohol. On our fourth date, Simon and I went clubbing just for the sake of it, and we drank so much vodka, I was a wreck once I reached his flat.

I barely made it through the bathroom’s door, and thankfully, I managed to get it all in the toilet, and not all over his floor (it has happened to me, back in school). As usual, he was unbearably sweet about it.

“It’s alright, yeah?” he said softly as he gathered my hair in his palm, keeping it from getting dirty.

I kept retching and more kept coming up. I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge.

I made an effort to gasp for air so I could choke out, “Don’t-don’t watch this,”

“It’s fine, my love. We’ve all been here,” he said softly.

That was the first time he ever called me a pet name. In hindsight, I was too drunk and mortified to appreciate it, but it was sweet and noble of him to be so gentle when I was a drunken mess.

  


Then, he turned the shower on and left me in the bathroom to clean myself up. We weren’t having sex yet back then, so he left the door ajar and waited outside until I was changed into one of his tracksuits.

The next morning, we took a couple of Advils, made a fry up and laughed about the ridiculous nonsense we got into at the bars and went through our embarrassing Instagram stories.  
Alex’s voice snaps me back to the present. 

Honestly, I was having more fun remembering that specific night. His eyes are searching my face. They’re a light hazel colour and hooded. The kind of eyes that look permanently sad.

“Let’s go home,” he stubs his cigarette out on the wall, “We can split the uber, and then you go up and I stay on my floor, okay?”

I nod and fish around in my wallet for a bill as I see him clicking around in the Uber app.

By the time we’re going through the door of the building, I’m feeling much worse, so when he insists on going up with me until we reach Agatha’s door, I don’t think much of it.

I’m carrying my jacket over my arm, taking the stairs slowly in case a fast movement increases my chances of throwing up.

I fumble around my pockets until I find the copy of Agatha’s keys she lent me. Which reminds me I never told her I was leaving. I make a mental note to text her once I get inside and sort myself out.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice calls from behind as I turn the key inside the lock.

I turn around slowly. He’s much closer than I expected him to be. My brain is telling me to run, but my body feels heavy, rooted to the floor. 

I look over his shoulder, “I probably should, um-” 

He cuts me off, “If I didn’t make myself clear enough, I like you,” he runs his thumb down my chin. I lean my head back, “I love your whole bad boy gone good persona. It’s hot.”

His breath smells like cigarettes and booze, and his face is too close to mine to be anyone’s but Simon’s. He presses both of his palms on the wall, bracketing my head between them. _Shit._ I can feel my sweat rolling down my temples. 

“I have a boyfriend,” I reply, grabbing onto one of his arms to shove it down.

“No one has to know, is just a one-time thing,” he whispers. My stomach lurches. I can’t. I have to go before something happens.

He leans in, and his mouth covers mine. I’m frozen. His lips have barely brushed mine before my body finally reacts, and I shove him back.

He stumbles backwards, hitting himself against the balcony’s railing, and I use this opportunity to get into the flat, locking the door behind me.

Immediately, I rush to the bathroom. I feel disgusting. How could I let myself get to this point? How could I have _failed_ the man who has shown me love and loyalty from day one?

As I vomit, kneeling on the floor, I think about how royally I’ve fucked our relationship. There’s no way he’s not going to break up with me after I tell him this.

I would, if it was the other way around. For a split second, it occurs to me that maybe this is what he meant at the airport. He said he wouldn’t care.

But he doesn’t deserve this either. He doesn’t deserve a bounder. 

I clean myself up and strip off my clothes, lying in bed in my pants. The room is spinning around me, but I need to hear his voice. He needs to know.  
After a couple of rings, he finally picks up.

His voice is familiar, and my chest fills with warmth at his familiar accent, “Love? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I slur as my tears roll down my cheeks.

The ache in my chest seems to expand, reminding me of the biggest mistake of my life.

I hear him walking around, probably to find somewhere more private. I hate myself for calling him during his work hours. He would never do this.

“Love, what’s wrong? You’re drunk. Go to bed, yeah?” He croons into the phone.

I sniffle, trying to control myself. _You crawled up on your own cross, Basil._

“He-I didn’t, he-he kissed me,”

His sharp intake of breath tells me all I need to know. Then, he’s quiet for several seconds.

“Baz-I- I’m going to have to call you back. Someone’s knocking.”

He hangs up before I get the chance to reply.

Alex’s words swirl around in my brain as I lay there, feeling the bed move under me.

 _I love your whole bad boy gone good persona._ That’s what it has always been with everyone else. Only Simon has loved me for me. Even in my worst moments, he has always seen the truth in me.

He never cared about my exterior. Not even before we first talked. 

Could I do better, listen to my family’s advice? Probably, yes. 

Would I love them like this? Would someone love me as the flawed, broken human that I am? No. Probably not.

We belong together because we match. Because we saw right through each other’s bullshit and fell in love with the real version of one another. With the secrets, the fears and the dreams.

It only occurs to me now, ten months after we got together, that he’s already seen the nasty bits of me. The ones I thought I had been hiding, he’s seen them all. He’s seen me jealous, he’s seen me arrogant, he’s seen me cry.

Yet, I still managed to destroy the relationship that matters the most in my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the author regrets nothing
> 
> *shuts laptop closed and hides away*
> 
> 1 more chapter!! Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments and kudos!! <3


	12. sounds like a carnival I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avatar by Venessa Kelley. Check out her amazing [ art!](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/) Seriously, you won't regret it!
> 
> Check out her brand-new graphic novel, [MANU. ](https://manu-graphic-novel.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Huge thanks to @WO2Ash who is kindly beta-ing this story! <3 <3 She’s writing for the _Carry On Mini Bang_ , so check out her fic! Both the art and the story are amazing! <3 [Dream A Little Dream of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20550071/chapters/48780416) (she's a terrific writer):
> 
> Check out my [tumblr!](https://alivealivealive.tumblr.com/)

##### Simon 

I make an effort not to cry at work. I had to hang up on Baz because right then, I couldn’t deal with it.

No one was really knocking, but I needed an excuse. I know it’s not healthy to run away from my problems, but I needed to process this before I said something I would regret later.  
The rest of the day, I’m quiet, still mulling over Baz’s words. Someone kissed him. Someone probably flirted with him and took him home.

For some strange reason, I’m not jealous nor disappointed. The only thing I feel is sadness.

I knew this would happen, eventually. When Baz went away, I prepared myself for this. He’s easily the fittest bloke I’ve ever met, so it’s no surprise someone hit on him. I’ve seen the way strangers look at him when we’re out in public. I can almost hear them think, _what’s that beautiful bloke doing with him?_ I never once believed, from the day I saw him looking so regal at his piano, that a disaster like me could ever get someone like him.

I know he loves me, and I’m aware of the promises he’s made countless times, yet I still knew something like this would happen. I also think he’ll find something better eventually.

No one had ever been even close to cheating on me, and I still don’t know how to feel about it. It’s probably a good idea to hear his side of the story first before jumping to conclusions, though. He must be asleep, so I’ll just wait up until he calls, and then we’ll have a real conversation.

So, after I get home, I take a long walk along the beach. Halfway through it, rain starts pouring down, and I can’t bring myself to care. For a very long time, I let myself think about what this means for us.

Once I’m back in my flat, I take a hot shower and climb into bed, taking a mug of hot chocolate with me, and try to think about anything but the truth. Eventually, Muppet joins me and lays his head on my stomach, in a very Baz-like way. I wonder whether he’ll leave me or try to make this work. Probably the first, and I wouldn’t blame him.

My phone ringing startles me awake. I hadn’t even realised I had fallen asleep. Baz’s face appears on my phone and I immediately pick up. It’s just past midnight. I guess I slept all afternoon.  
The seriousness of his voice brings me back to the present, reminding me of what's about to happen.

“Simon,”

“How are you?” I rasp into the phone. 

“Now, this is what we’re not going to do,” I open my mouth to reply, but he keeps going on, “We’re not going to pretend it didn’t happen. We’re going to talk about it, okay?”

“It’s alright, Baz. You can say it now, you don’t have to be gentle,”

It’s okay. _You can discard me now,_ I think to myself.

I can almost _hear_ his brain overheating. “No, no. You’re the one who doesn’t have to be kind. Just say it.”

My heart snaps in two. I think he’s giving me an opening to leave him before he has to do it himself. 

This is what it has always come down to. Yeah, the usual. My previous partners have been generous with their excuses, always telling me I’m too good for them.

Who could ever leave me?

_You’re too good for this world, Simon. It’s not you, it’s me. You’re too kind. You deserve the world._

But who would actually stay?

It has never been enough.

Baz could have stayed.

“Snow. It’s alright. I fucked up. I’m so sorry about what I’ve done to us,” his voice wobbles right at the end. He’s crying hard. My love. 

I’m tongue-tied. I can’t say anything. I lean my head back against the headboard and watch the ceiling, gasping as I feel the air leaving my lungs, as my fear of what he’s about to do fills my chest.  
“But I wanted you to know, that I didn’t kiss him back. I could never- It could never be when I’m so in love with you. And I’ve meant everything-“

“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m not angry. I said I wouldn’t care.” I reply, trying to keep my voice neutral. “You can date him, you know? You don’t have to stay with me because you promised stuff in a fit of affection.”

His breath hitches, “Simon, you’re the best thing I have in this world. Why on earth would I trade it for someone else?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I’m going to hate myself for years and years after this. “It’s fine. If you’ve found someone who fits better with you, you can start over.”

“Simon, I am so sorry. I never- I never wanted this to happen. The whole time, I was thinking about you. You don’t deserve this. You deserve better.”

Something in me snaps. I finally start crying. He’s not getting out of this so easily.

“You know what? I’m exhausted. You’re not going to tell me what I deserve, yeah?” I snap. 

“I don’t deserve you, Simon Snow.”

“That’s something for me to decide, not you. So stop trying to justify yourself and just dump me already”

“Simon- “

“Do it. I’m fucking waiting,”

Silence.

“I-I-can’t. I love you. Always will. I don’t want anyone else. I could never want someone else,” he cries into the phone.

This can’t be real. Yeah, he probably was trying to play down what actually happened, but I was sure he was going to leave me.

“Well, I’m not leaving you either,” I reply.

“Are you serious? Before you decide that, can I at least explain what happened?”

My breath finally slows. Maybe this won’t be as bad, “Yeah. Okay. Go ahead.”

He goes on in detail, telling me about their conversation, the game they played, and then how he was going to leave without him.

Now that I’m hearing the details, jealousy starts creeping in. It’s obvious that this Alex bloke meant for this to happen since they met. I can’t believe Baz didn’t notice it, because when _I_ started trying to flirt with him, he was so obvious about avoiding me.

But that also happened when he was sober and completely closed off. He wouldn’t let anyone get close to him. He couldn’t even let himself hold a conversation with a stranger, so. 

He keeps apologising and I keep telling him it’s alright. Now that he’s told me everything, I’ve decided he didn’t even cheat on me.

He didn’t want it to happen. He didn’t kiss him back. He shoved him off. He told him we were together. _And I told him it’d be alright if he kissed someone else._ I just thought I would care less if it actually happened. Turns out, I’m in deeper than I thought.

For now, we’re okay.

I go to sleep dreaming about their mouths together, oceans away from me. By morning, I’m exhausted because I kept waking up having nightmare after nightmare. 

Well, fuck.  
-  
I don’t even know why I’m here, in Fiona’s front seat heading towards Hampshire. I was too scared of her to say no when she insisted I had to spend Christmas with them. 

Originally, I was going to spend it alone watching a film. I had thought about having dinner with Micah and Penny, but they went to America to spend the holidays with his family, which I guess is what is expected once they get married next week.

The whole car ride, I'm thinking of ways of telling Daphne I might not come back at all.

It’s been difficult for Baz and I to talk lately. We’ve been trying to keep things normal since the Halloween incident, but things are a lot tenser now. He acts like he’s walking on eggshells every time we talk. He keeps apologising for everything he says. He’s so gentle now, I’m worried he’ll never be back to his usual snarky self. Not that I don’t like him like this, soft and careful, but I miss when he used to be careless about his words. When he used to call me out.

He won’t be here for our anniversary, and that’s breaking my heart. I was sort of hoping he’d stop by. He’s also not coming to Penny’s wedding either, and that seems a tad unfair because I was his date at Dev’s wedding, which was brilliant. But I really wanted to take him as my date, introduce him to my Uni friends. Instead, I’m going alone.

I keep telling myself we’re in a bit of a weird phase. Maybe once we see each other things will balance out, but for now, our conversations have been pretty dull, mostly about superficial stuff or gossip. 

A couple of my colleagues told me a while ago that it was common for couples to fall into a bit of a rut once the honeymoon phase is over. I never thought it'd be over with Baz, because for a while things got pretty out of control. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other or our pants on. But I guess it’s what’s happening to us. Not that the passion is gone but being in different continents makes things a lot more difficult.

So, I’m trying to find the words to prepare his family in case we break up once he gets back. I’m hopelessly hoping and praying for it not to happen. Everything is exactly as he left it. I still keep his bloody shampoo in my shower, in case he’s going to pop in one day unannounced and stay over.

After lunch, I take Muppet out for a walk around the stables. It’s freezing, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the exercise after being confined in a car with Fiona. The Pitches have multiple horses, and I’m not surprised they’re all purebreds. I can’t resist checking in on them. They look great: healthy, well-fed. I’m just walking around the small forest at the back of the Manor, thinking about Baz when Muppet starts going wild. He is pulling on his leash, trying to get free.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Bud?”

He keeps barking like he’s gone mad and pulling until I finally let go of the leash. Maybe he saw an animal. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s hunted something and brought it to me. It’s not like he’s going to get lost because the mansion is surrounded by a fence, so it’s fine for him to run around freely, especially for a dog his size. 

He immediately runs towards me and passes me quickly, howling. I turn around. 

Air leaves my lungs completely. 

Baz is leaning against a tree, ankles and arms crossed. He smiles at me as Muppet jumps up and down, trying to get Baz to carry him.

“I-you’re here,” I babble, still rooted in my spot.

He rolls his eyes, “Evidently, Snow,”

His skin is tan, a darker olive shade, and his hair is shorter, loose around his jaw. He’s wearing jeans and a dark red jumper. He looks lovely. I run towards him as my heart hammers in my chest and my throat constricts. He opens both arms and wraps them around me. I crash my mouth to his, going in for a messy kiss. I can’t help but let a few tears fall as I squeeze his chest to mine, breathing in his familiar scent.

I break apart and look into his grey eyes. They’re incredibly soft, and they’re filled with tears too. “Happy anniversary, Snow.”

I kiss him again, and again, relishing the feeling of reconnecting until Muppet is practically howling, so Baz lets go of me for a second and kneels to hug him.

“You’ve missed me, haven’t you?” he whispers, patting his big head. Muppet pants and circles him, sniffing him and then returning to his arms. “That’s alright, Father is here now, you monster,”

It’s so weird, seeing him in person after six months. I stare, open-mouthed like a fish. I can’t believe he’s real. He’s real, and he’s mine, and he loves me.

We spend the rest of the evening locked up in his childhood bedroom, trying to make up for the last six months. It feels just as good as the first time we ever had sex and the fifty that followed. We don’t even talk for a while, basking in the aftermath of being together for the first time in a long time. Right before dinner, I have to ask.

“How long?” I mumble against his chest as he plays with my short curls.

He yawns, “Mm, two weeks,”

I drape my leg over his, so I’m laying on my front halfway across him.

I kiss the taut skin over one of his ribs. He’s gained some weight, and it suits him. I can tell he’s been eating well by the way his hipbone doesn’t quite dig into my belly as it did before. His cheeks seem to be fuller too, making his face less sharp. It’s just as beautiful as before, though.

I’ve still got a couple of stones on him, but it makes me happy to see he’s been kinder to himself. Here, he barely ate twice a day, if that. He was always too caught up in something to sit down and eat, and it always used to worry me.  
-  
The night has just started, and it’s already the happiest Christmas I’ve ever experienced, even if I’m required to wear a suit for it. Dinner is a feast, and trays and dishes keep coming from the kitchen one after another and then being passed around the table.

I thought there’d be more of Baz’s relatives, but it’s just his parents, the kids (We call them kids, but they’re actually just reaching adolescence. Mordelia is about to be fourteen and the twins are eight.) and Fiona. Dev and Danna are supposed to be coming over after dinner, so I think we’re in for a fun night. 

Conversation flows easy, and Baz takes over, telling us every single detail about the places he’s been. He’s so different, in a good way.

He keeps making eye contact with me and keeps smiling, not sneering at everyone. Of course, he still makes the occasional sharp comment or jabs at Mordelia, but he seems much more relaxed.

#####  Baz 

The kids have been put to bed, except for Mordelia. We’re replete, sitting in front of the fire having a drink. The room is almost dark, except for the fireplace and a couple of lamps that barely give off any light. 

My heart feels like it’s about to burst. I don’t know why I never appreciated these moments before now. I caress Muppet’s fur as Simon leans his head on my shoulder. I feel strangely aware of everything happening. It’s almost as if before everything was surrounded by a grey, sound-muffling haze. 

Laughter sounds louder and I can’t stop smiling like I’ve gone mental. Even sex with Simon was a completely different experience. Not that I didn’t put everything in it before, but somehow our connection felt stronger now. Every gasp, every moan and every inch of his skin touching mine took me to a completely new place. 

Father is going on about business with Dev, and I’m barely participating in the conversation, but it feels so good to be home, that I can’t believe I was ever unhappy.

After a while of sitting here with everyone, I can tell Simon is wrecked because he keeps yawning and giving me puppy eyes. 

I stretch my arms over my head, giving Simon the chance to sit upright.

“Well, Father, Mother, I think we should head to bed. I’m still quite jetlagged.”

Simon nods wildly as Muppet removes himself from my lap and walks towards the door.

Father looks at the pendulum clock that stands near the window. “You’re right. It’s past three, Basil.”

Daphne yawns softly, covering her mouth. “We should get the presents for the kids ready, though. Mordy, do you want to help?”

Simon and I stand, ready to say our goodbyes. She rolls her eyes, “Yeah. I guess.”

Typical teenager. I poke her ribs softly. “Come on, you’ve got to continue the tradition, I used to do the same for you.”

At first, I was slightly jealous that she got to receive gifts from Father Christmas every year until she was about nine, but once I got older, I started looking forward to it. I’d force her to write her letter and then surprise her with the exact gifts she’d been talking about for days.

Her face was always the best part of Christmas for me, seeing her eyes twinkle as she tore the wrapping paper off her presents.

I look at Simon, who’s nodding at her like he’s trying to tell her it’s something magical, and it breaks my heart to know he probably never got gifts as a child.

Dev cuts in out of the blue, “You want me to get a spare room ready for you, Simon?”

 _Motherfucker._ He licks his lips, grinning maliciously. Danna just shakes her head and snorts.

Simon stutters as his cheeks flush a deep red, “Uh. Um-“

“Well, I don’t think that’d be necessary since they’ve spent the afternoon holed up in Basil’s room, most likely defacing this sanctuary. ” Father deadpans.

I want to will myself from existence. Although my family prefers to follow rules of common courtesy, they tend to be quite abrasive once they get comfortable, and since they’re openly joking about sex now, I guess it is a good thing for Simon, I suppose.

Fiona downs the rest of her whiskey and sets the glass on the side table.

“You know, Malcom. I’m surprised you’d let your firstborn live in sin,” she says, lifting both eyebrows, “Thought you’d be pushing for their wedding by now.”

Simon is practically hiding behind me at this point, clutching my hand with as much strength as he can muster. I scan the room, watching everyone, trying not to look affected by their jabs.

I clear my throat, “Well, Simon and I are going to _sleep_ now. When you decide you’re done discussing whether or not we’re getting it on, we’ll be right there. The door will be unlocked.”

The last part is a lie, but everyone is too polite to barge in without knocking first.  
Daphne laughs and buries her head on my Father’s neck as I open the door, to flee the room. I pull on Simon’s hand. 

“Er, night, thanks for dinner!” Simon calls, barely turning his head as he speaks.

Once we’re upstairs, we get Muppet settled near the window and then I sprawl my suitcase open to give Simon all the souvenirs I’ve bought for him. Suddenly, I feel terrible for not getting him a proper Christmas gift, but I already know how stubborn he’s about not getting presents from me, so I decided to drop it.

He’s watching me while he undresses, draping the suit I lent him carefully over the sofa. He stops when he’s in his pants. He picks up the jumper I was wearing earlier from the floor and throws it on over his undershirt. 

He’s gained some muscle. His arms look toned and bigger. His thighs are even better, muscular from all the runs he’s going on. It has a lot to do with the fact that he works out a lot more since I’ve been gone. According to him, he has way too much time on his hands without me.

I lick my lips. Simon Snow looks lovely in dark red. He joins me on the carpeted floor where I’m going through my belongings.

“Baz,”

I keep pulling stuff out. “Yes?”

His skin glows golden in the firelight, so I reach for him and place a kiss softly on the back of his hand.

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t know you’d be here and I-“

My chest tightens, and for some reason my urge to give him the world intensifies. 

“Relax, love. You’ve already given me the best year of my life.”

He smiles like he’s trying very hard not to and pulls me to him, until I’m over him, snogging like we’re teenagers. 

The warmth of his wine-stained lips feels amazing, making my chest feel even fuller just with how much I love him. He breaks apart, gasping for air. 

“So fucking poetic.”

I kiss him again, and for a while, that’s all that we do. Neither of us has the energy to go further now, but snogging him is still one of my favourite activities in the world. 

By the time I roll away from him, and sit up, we’ve kissed near the fire so much that my mouth has gone numb. 

“I brought some stuff for you, though,” I say as I start passing him wrapped souvenirs.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“You brought these for me?” he says as he tears open a brown paper bag, revealing an ornate mug that I got in a small village in Mexico.

“Evidently, Snow.”

“I-Baz. It’s too much.”

He’s surrounded by tiny packages. Some of them include typical candy, a keychain, a couple of figurines. Basically, I bought everything, everywhere that vaguely reminded him of him.

I shrug as a response, digging around my suitcase for my pyjamas.

“You thought about me. While you were away, doing all these cool things. That’s so neat.”

I don’t know what love looks like in his mind, but for me, it involves thinking about him constantly.

“You’re ridiculous, Simon. Of course, I did.”

I watch with glee as he opens them and comments on each item, mostly getting the references about some of the inside jokes we have going on. 

When we go to bed, it’s almost sunrise. Every bone of my body cracks happily as I finally drop my head on my pillow. I lay there, with his strong arms wrapped around my waist under the thick covers, thinking about how at home I feel right now, in my childhood bedroom lying beside my future.

Simon sighs against my neck and I think to myself: _I’m the happiest fuck on earth tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!! this is the first part of the ending of this story. fjndfsjn sorry for the intense drama in the last chapter and then the prolonged silence! I was caught up in school and it was hard to find the time to write.
> 
> ALSO: there's an alt ending...it's a bit sadder...so, maybe if you guys want to read it, let me know and I can add it as an extra chapter! Let me know if it's a yes, or a no, no :)!!
> 
> LOVE,  
> MP


	13. Sounds like a carnival II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can’t control my giggles. Jesus, now I’ve completely lost it, “No, uh. But you know what I mean, I seriously don’t think-“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> I'm back literally three months later. UNI and work and my real personal life got in the way and I ended up too caught up in my own personal drama to write. 
> 
> The ending is written but I'll split it because it's LOOOONG af. Here's today's part :) Let me know in the comments if you liked this :)

#####  Simon 

February 

Ebb’s home is just outside London, a lovely hidden cottage that can only be found if you get off the motorway at the right exit. I park my old Volkswagen Golf near a posh MG that’s near the entrance. It’s eerily similar to Fiona’s, but I don’t think she’ll be here today. (I don’t think that’s Ebb’s car either, but maybe she treated herself to a new one.) 

Getting my car was a huge fight for Baz and me, but he eventually sweet-talked me into getting it, putting the money I had saved up from the months of rent he had paid for me to good use. 

It’s old and sometimes it makes odd sounds and it's obviously not a Jag, but it allows me to move around easily. Before he left, all those train tickets to London were starting to pile up making my weekly, sometimes even bi-weekly visits expensive.

Now I can move around Brighton easily and go up to Hampshire if I’m invited for Sunday lunch. After Christmas, I’ve been there every couple of weeks thanks to Daphne’s insistent phone calls. It scares me to think that I’m getting more comfortable around his family even though Baz himself left over a month ago to continue his trip. I wish he was here visiting Ebb with me. 

It’s freezing out here, but I know I’ll be nice and warm in a second. I check my hair one last time in the rearview mirror and text Baz to let him know I got here safely before knocking on Ebb’s door.

I’m excited to be here. She’s finally going to introduce me to her girlfriend after years and years of me begging to meet her mystery partner. She always refused to name her or bring her into the shop. She insisted it was too complicated. 

Back when I used to work at the shop, Ebb would ask me for advice on relationships because I was in a long and supposedly perfect relationship.

It's clear now that I wasn’t with the right person until I met Baz. I loved those chats anyway, both of us making flower arrangements and talking our hearts out in the back of the store. 

She wasn’t surprised at all when I told her about my relationship, one night when we were both at the Club and Baz was playing.

I was hesitant to tell Ebb because she tried to introduce me to him the very first night I went to the Club. I was too scared to go to Baz and when she tried to do the same with him, he brushed her off. 

When Baz and I told that story to each other, we laughed at our ridiculous antics.

Anyway, I’m here to meet her girlfriend of five, six years. They’ve been on and off for a long time, but they’ve finally decided to move in together, so she agreed to introduce us formally. The only thing I know about them is that they they met back in school.

Ebb’s friendly blue eyes sparkle as soon as she opens the door.

“You made it!” She greets me as she wraps her arms around me.

Ebb always smells like coffee. She was such a comforting presence in my life for years, that sometimes a warm cup reminds me of her strong hugs. I’m grateful our paths crossed.

I squeeze her to me, “I sure did, I wasn’t going to miss this for the world,”

“Shut up, or I’ll hide her from you.”

I shake my head, "You've met mine, now I get to see yours." 

We walk inside until we reach the kitchen. A tall woman is standing at the counter, with her back to us. She's dressed in a black jumper, black jeans and those gigantic boots I’d recognise anywhere.

Ebb approaches her first and I follow closely behind, “Honey this is-“

She turns around, and that familiar streak of white hair confirms my suspicions. Fiona Pitch.

Oh. My. God. 

Baz is going to have a field day when I tell him.

Fiona finishes Ebb’s sentence, “Simon Snow.”

We both start laughing maniacally like we’re in a bad comedy.

“I can’t believe it. All this bloody time, it’s been you.” I lean forward and kiss her cheek, “We’ve existed around each other for so long,”

Fiona pinches my arm, but she’s still chuckling, so it’s a good sign.

“Of course, Basil had to fall for the flower shop boy. Typical,”

I roll my eyes, “We could’ve gotten together earlier if you had decided to show your face when you and Ebb started dating, you know.”

“Well, she would have, if she hadn’t been working in a different country back then,” Ebb chimes in.

“Or having commitment issues, Chosen one,” Fiona says, quirking an eyebrow.

I snort and shake my head. I hate the weird names she calls me sometimes, but I know she truly cares about Baz and I. She gave me quite the talk on our way to Pitch manor before Christmas.

I love it. This is the most unexpected outcome in the world. Baz’s life and mine were intertwined before we even saw each other for the first time.  
.  
Our conversation during dinner was a mixture of their whole story together and some of Baz’s adolescent shenanigans. According to our stories, there were quite a few times where our paths almost crossed and we could have met each other. I can’t believe it took us years to meet.

By the time I was seventeen, and I started working at the shop, Fiona and Ebb had been a thing once in their school years. 

There were Christmas parties where I drove the arrangements to a estate a party was being held and Baz was attending, times I accompanied Ebb to check on Fiona’s cat and Baz was meant to arrive minutes later.

A time where Baz dropped Ebb’s stuff on the shop after one of their breakups. I had left a couple of minutes before he got there. I even delivered flowers once to Baz’s building in Kensington during my gap year. A maid answered the door, but he was right there napping on Fiona’s sofa, hungover out of his mind. Why I didn't see him is a mystery to me.

I’m glad we met at the perfect time.

Dinner was rich, a pasta dish that has my eyelids feeling heavy with the amount of carbs that I’ve just eaten. We’re now sitting in the front room, me, in a lone armchair drinking a black coffee, them, huddled together drinking wine. I decided cut back on the alcohol since I’m meant to drive home, but they’re continuing the party. The bottle we split at dinner was fantastic.

Fiona takes grabs her mobile and points its camera at me, “Smile, chosen one,”

I give her a wonky grin from where I’m slouched on the sofa. Her phone clicks once and she starts typing. “I guess we’re breaking the news now,”

I shrug. I probably look terrible, but I don’t think he’d mind that.

“I was just about to turn you in, but you beat me to it,” I reply. 

Ebb giggles and unwraps herself from Fiona. “I’m going to get the pudding, okay?”

“Ebb, I’m about to burst out of my jeans,” I reply.

She gives me a devil-like grin, “There’s always room for desert in your belly, and I know that from experience,”

She’s right, but I didn’t want her to get up and leave the room. She does, anyway.

Fiona takes out a cigarette and lights it. She takes a drag and tucks her now bootless feet under the blanket.

We’re in comfortable silence for a few seconds. I stare around the living room. It’s cosy, with pale yellow curtains and yellow accents. Ebb makes quite good money from her business, but she’s always stuck to a modest life. I love her all the more for it. 

I pull my mobile from my back pocket. I check my text messages, but Baz hasn’t attacked me with questions yet.

I can feel Fiona staring through me as if she’s considering something. She takes a long drag from her cigarrette, blowing the smoke to the side and then clears her throat, “That one’s got a ring, you know.”

“Who’s that one? _Ebb?_ ” I smile. “It’s about bloody time,”

“Fuck. Why are you so dense?” I open my mouth, but she continues, “That one, as in my nephew,”

The world stops spinning. That can’t be real. I feel a strange warmth flooding my stomach and then my face.

“I-I don’t think it’s for me, it’d be too soon, wouldn’t it?” I reply before laughing, “Come on, you’re taking the piss,”

She lifts an eyebrow, “Am I fucking laughing, Snow?”

I can’t control my giggles. Jesus, now I’ve completely lost it, “No, uh. But you know what I mean, I seriously don’t think-“

“Well, I’m not messing with you. I’ve seen it. He got it last week in Belgium,” she replies.

I take a deep breath. “Are you sure it’s for me?”

She shakes her head, “Thank God you’re good-looking, because I don’t think he loves you for being bright,”

I flip her off.

“It’s obviously for you, you absolute knobhead. Who else is he going to propose to? To his boyfriend of over a year? Nah. Clearly not,” She says, her voice filled with sarcasm.

I place my head between my hands for a second. I know we’ve talked about it but. Well. I didn’t see it coming, especially since he’s been gone for so long. I see her pale hand flicking her cigarette into the ashtray in the side table.

“Oh. _Oh._ You don’t want to. Jesus fucking Christ,” she says quietly. Almost too quietly.

I snap my head up.

“I do. I want to. It’s just-I never thought he actually meant it when we talked about marriage,” I blurt.

She smirks, “If you’ve talked about it, in multiple occasions, I’d say yes. For heaven’s sake, you’ve got a dog together. You go to his parents’ house without him. Of course he meant it,”

“Well, when you say it like that…" I take a deep breath, "I’m obviously going to say yes,”

“Good. Don’t tell him I told you. Just now, it tumbled out of my mouth before I could control myself,” she warns.

I shake my head. “Relax, I won’t.”

Baz would strangle her if he knew I know.

-

#####  Baz 

_Late april_

I squeeze myself between the crowd, trying to get to the next tube station on time, but the amount of people at the station is proving it to be hard. 

I’m quite literally lost in Japan. I understand the most basic words, but I can’t make out most of what people are saying or what the flashing lights on advertisements are trying to tell me. I’ve been here for a couple of weeks and I’m loving the country. 

I finally settle myself on the train to my hotel and lean my head against the window.

The polite, fast-paced culture here is refreshing. So different from what I’m used to. Most of my days have been occupied by hopping on trains and visiting landmarks as I go. The food has been amazing too, I’ve been trying something different every day and I can’t decide what I like the most.

Now that I’m eight hours ahead of Snow, our roles have reversed. He no longer has to stay up for me, instead, I wake up at five in the morning to facetime him because it’s the only time where he’s at home in bed and I’m not travelling around.

It’s brilliant to see his face first thing in the morning, almost as if we were waking up next to each other. Which we have done previously, in countless occasions, but I’m excited for us to make that routine permanent.

No more goodbyes at train stations or packing suitcases for the weekend. Instead, a constant state of us being together. Still, I think it’d be quite a stark contrast to move in together right after being gone for a year. Maybe I can try suggesting it next December. 

I couldn’t care less if I have to put my flat up for lease and move to an intermediate point for us. I’d do it for him. To have our own place. To fill it with stupid pictures of us and my piano and his weird cookbook collection and to permanently see his trainers near the door in their wrecked state. Maybe we could even get another dog together. 

I’ve loved him for over a year and I’m positive that this is it for me. 

Penelope’s wedding only made this worse. It was a smaller affair than Dev’s, held up in a hotel’s ballroom on the 28th of December. Simon and I were that annoying couple snogging everywhere, but it felt like we were back in our honeymoon phase. It was our last night together for a while, so we were acting like teenagers.

After everyone was drunk and the happy couple disappeared, we went up to our hotel room.

We had the compulsory wedding night shag and then we ordered room service.

In the dim light of the room, beneath bleach-smelling sheets, we talked all night about what we’d want our wedding to be like.

By the time our burgers and chips were delivered to the room, I had already started scribbling in the hotel’s notepad some of our keypoints.

We discussed the menu and the number of guests and we even picked the bloody flowers, so I’m quite sure this is it for me. I can only hope he feels the same way about this. 

Hopefully he’s as mine as I am his.

Jesus fucking Christ. Now I’ve gone completely poetic. If past Baz was hearing my thoughts, he’d think I’m possessed. Before Simon, I saw a life of loneliness and piano playing until it simply ended. 

There was only black and white. Not the golden range of shades that Simon has painted my life with, giving me a chance to see possibility in everything.

The ring that’s in my hotel room’s safe confirms my thoughts, and although I’m not sure when I’m going to pop the question or how exactly, the intention is there.

I finally make it to my room. It’s late, so I just take a quick shower in the dark and send him a goodnight text.

23:14 Baz Pitch: Goodnight, love  
23:14 Baz Pitch: Talk tomorrow? Yoshino was lovely  
23:15 Baz Pitch: Wish you had seen the pink trees.  
23:15 Baz Pitch: (photo)   
23:15 Baz Pitch: I love you x

Normally, I send him my favourite picture from that day and he cheers up immediately. Even if he’s in the middle of work, he takes a second to reply or send a voice note. I love those, especially when he sends long ones rambling about his day or about what he's doing in that exact moment. It’s embarrassing to admit that I listen to them on my earbuds, pressing my phone to my chest.

My phone buzzes as I’m plugging it behind the nightstand.

23:18 Favourite nightmare: busy tonight. Can we talk Friday instead?  
23:18 Favourite nightmare: Nightshift  
23:18 Favourite nightmare: love u too x

Ah. My heart stutters a little. I don’t know why I’m being sentimental about him cancelling facetime tomorrow. He’s never done that. I’m sure his rotations this month didn’t include a night shift, but maybe something came up. (He sent me his shift calendar so I’d stop asking).

23:20 Baz Pitch: that’s alright. Everything okay???

The blue dots above his chat appear immediately. He takes his time typing. They disappear for a bit, and when they reappear, he only sends a word.

23:22 Favourite nightmare: Sure :) 

There’s something off with him, but I don’t want to keep pushing, so I decide to sleep on it. Maybe he’ll feel better once he’s processed whatever is going on. Pushing Simon is never a good idea. If you have a go at it before he’s ready to talk, he goes off on you, either crying or he gets angry, like the time I asked him to come with me.

I’ve learned my lesson now and waiting a bit is infinitely better. I wrap the sheets tighter around myself and try to think of my favourite set of blue eyes.

The next morning I text him as I get ready in the lonely hotel room, but I get no reply. 

I’ve been anxious all day. My mind racing with the possibility that something terrible is going on. Maybe he’s realised how much of an awful person I am. Maybe the idea that we’re going to fast has just occurred to him. He may not be ready to settle down yet.

Maybe he’s met someone else. Highly questionable, since it was a Wednesday, but still. I distract myself by actually paying attention at the panels at the Economics summit I signed myself in for. It’s entertaining, if not a bit difficult to understand even though most of it is in English.

Their work ethic is so different from ours, that I find myself marvelled at their discipline. My journal is almost filled with notes from every single conference I’ve attended. I always try to take something away and apply it in my life or my work, and I’m sure everything I’ve written here is going to be useful in teaching or to fuel my research.

My therapist would be proud to see how I’m handling Simon being distant, I think. I haven’t resorted to running away. (Metaphorically, of course. I couldn’t be farther away from him even If I tried.)

I’m still seeing her, just a bit more scarcely, mostly because of the time difference, but there’s a weekly appointment now, and it’s wildly different from our first sessions. Now we’re working on specific things instead of trying to tackle all of my issues at once. 

During the coffee break, I text Simon again since it’s morning for him again.

16:22 Baz Pitch: Love, are you okay?  
16:22 Baz Pitch: Haven’t heard from you today :(  
16:22 Baz Pitch: Please be alright.

It used to bother me to show vulnerability like this. It doesn’t anymore. We’re in a _relationship_ and that’s what it entails. Surrender. Picking your battles and letting them see that you care instead of trying to show you’re unaffected all the time.

It’s difficult, but so, so rewarding. To know he’s happy and feels more at ease telling me everything that goes through his pretty head instead of hiding things that might have upset past me.

Once the final speaker closes off the last conference, I take the train to the hotel. I was meant to explore downtown a bit, but I’m not feeling up to it. Last night I tossed and turned until it got too unbearable and I started reading on my kindle.

The door clicks open as I slide my keycard in. My coat and shoes stay near the door before I flop myself in bed. I rub my hands over my eyes, willing them to open again. I’m feeling like eating the takeaway I picked up on the way here and taking a nap.

The buzz of my phone startles me.

18:31 Favourite nightmare: All good, busy

I reply but I hear nothing back for the rest of the evening. He’s even quiet in social media. Usually, he posts daily stories about his patients, and that has earned him quite a following. Figures. People are suckers for cute dogs and cats. (Not that I’m not, but I’m just saying.)

Now I’m starting to panic, but I've decided to give it one more day. If he still won’t talk to me, I’ll call Bunce and ask if she knows anything. It’s my last resource, but it usually works. She worries about Simon as much as I do, so I’m sure she’ll know if something is up.

Maybe he’s sick. Or in a terrible mood. But when I think of it, I can’t find a reason. The night before he cancelled, we were happy, making plans for once I got back and talking about Muppet and his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love, MP. x
> 
> Please stay safe.


	14. Sounds like a carnival III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I‘m not sure if it was because of his words or because of the rain that was hitting the window furiously, but I shivered.
> 
> I nodded. “Right.”
> 
> His pretty smile faltered, and he looked down, fixing his gaze on his lap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This one is longer.  
> If you stumbled upon this fic mid-quarantine, I hope it brings you some entertainment <3
> 
> enjoy

##### Baz 

The answer comes to me the next morning in the form of my Father.

Somehow, family always has a way to get intertwined in your life when something is wrong or when you're not supposed to know about something. This is what used to be the bane of my existence back in school.

Now I'm grateful for it.

Father exchanges pleasantries with me and then he decides to cut to the bone. Good man.

“Basil, do you, um, happen to know if Simon has a personal lawyer or someone who takes care of his legal business?” he asks, sounding unsure.

Fuck. Something must be very wrong if my father is calling me about his legal status.

I grab my tie from my bed and twist it around my fist. I clear my throat.

“Not that I know of, no. Is there a problem?”

He's quiet for a second.

“Well, since Davy is gone now, one of my colleagues in charge of his Will and told me his son is due to inherit the Club,” his voice is careful like he's not entirely sure of what he's saying.

I drop my tie and sit on the bed, too shocked to reply.

“He's not answering right now, though, so I thought you might know,” he explains.

“Where is Davy?” I snap.

“Basil. The funeral. I was actually surprised that you missed it entirely, I-”

Every single hair on my body stands on end.

I cut him off. “He didn't tell me.”

Oh god. Jesus fucking Christ. This is why he's been like this. Quiet and drawn into himself.

I'm furious. I can’t believe no one thought it was odd that Simon’s boyfriend remained quiet during the whole affair.

My constant urge to see him intensifies. I can't bear to be away for one more second. I need to hold him. I need him to say to my face that he'll be fine.

Father clears his throat, bringing me back to the present.

“That's- that doesn't sound good. He called a couple of nights ago. Your mother and I were with him when he was pronounced dead. He had a heart attack. He was dead when the paramedics arrived.”

My stomach drops. I imagine Simon alone, with no one else to call but my own parents. _My love._

“Why didn't you call me?”

“He asked us not to. He wanted to talk to you himself,” he says after a taking a deep breath.

A shiver runs through my body. Is our relationship that superficial? Something so shallow and empty that he didn't think I'd care enough to jump on the first plane back home to be with him.

“Well, he didn't, so,” I reply bitterly.

“I don't think he did it to upset you. Quite the opposite, really.”

Jesus. Now I'm getting relationship advice from my Father. This is ridiculous. I get that Simon is all about not bothering other people, which is ridiculous if you ask me, but this is on a whole other level. If I wasn't so heartbroken for him, I'd be even more humiliated.

_Why do I have to be the last to know?_

“Listen. I'm going back. I'll change my flight. I don't think it's a good idea for me not to be there right now-”

“Basil,” he warns.

“What? He's the one who's being irrational-” I snap.

“He's in quite a state. I'd suggest you call him first,”

I huff. I'm acting like a petulant child, but I don't care. This is wrong on all levels.

“Yes. Thank you, Father.”

Simon’s call comes the day after Father’s. After a day of dry texts and me pacing around my hotel room, he finally decides to call me.

I can tell he’s dancing around it by the way he’s asking me weird questions about Japan.

“Snow. Quit stalling,” I say, trying hard not to snap.

He’s quiet for a second and I worry that I’ve fucked this up and he’ll be mad at me. Instead, he takes a deep, tired breath.

“Davy is dead.” He says simply like it’s today’s date.

“I know.”

I rake a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, almost too quietly.

I can practically hear him shrugging. This has always been it, the bane of our relationship. Lack of communication.

“I didn’t want you to come back here and see me like that,” he says. His voice is almost a whisper at the end.

“You’re mental, Simon. I love you. You’ve loved me through worse, surely I can handle you in your worst,”

He takes a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry. When I wanted to tell you, it was too late and then I didn’t know how to say it,”

I close my eyes and lean back against the headboard, trying not to cry. This isn’t about me.

“Well, I’m going back anyway-“

“Don't-” he snaps.

“Too late-“ I continue.

He cuts me off again, “Baz-don’t interrupt your life for me,”

“You’re not interrupting anything. You _are_ my life, Simon.”

His soft gasp tells me I’ve won.

I press on, “My flight has been changed now. You can’t convince me to not be there for you.”

He sighs, “But-“

“Shh. I love you. Let me be there for you.”

I can hear some rustling around, probably Muppet moving around the bed.

“Okay.” he agrees.

“Good.”

I take a deep peath.

Let me be here for you. Give us this.

I try to sound confident, “So what we’re going to do is this: I’m going to be there next Monday, and then I’ll help you out with whatever paperwork you have to do, okay?”

He breathes loudly. He’s crying. “Yeah.”

“And meanwhile, I’ll be there for you and we’ll talk, and I’ll hold you through this. Sounds good?” I prattle on.

A couple of tears roll down my cheeks at the thought of him being in pain and away from me.

“Why are you so good to me? I don’t- it’s almost too much to know I have someone like this-“ his says, his voice rough.

“Someone to love you through bad times? What about Penelope?” I ask.

I stare at the window. Two more days and I’ll be home.

“I mean, yeah. I had Penny. But I mean, no one I dated before you even knew I went to therapy,”

What? That’s idiotic. I knew I had been through my fair share of bad relationships before him, but I never thought he’d experienced the same. Beautiful, courageous Simon.

“You’re taking the piss,” I reply because I can’t think of anything else.

He laughs softly into the phone.

Finally.

“Hundred per cent sure I’m not,” He sniffs loudly, “Are you going to stay here? In Brighton, I mean,”

I thread carefully, “Well, If I’m allowed to, yes. If not, I can go home and visit you anyway,”

He groans.

“Ugh. You’re impossible. You can obviously stay here, you arse. Half your stuff is here anyway.”

I click my tongue. “It’d be easier if we just had a place, you know.”

He giggles again between soft sniffles, “You know why we can’t. Your job. Mine. Geography. Not very close to each other,”

I hum softly. “We’ll figure it out, we always do.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be waiting, love.” He says, his tone eager.

Two months later

June

#####  Simon 

Baz has been staying here for so long I’m not sure this isn’t _our_ place. He’s soundly asleep behind me, his breathing even, and one of his arms is draped around my waist lazily.

He’s been working on his lesson plans for his next semester now, so that keeps him busy for most of the day.

We’ve settled into a lovely routine. I wake up before he does, make coffee for both of us and get ready. By the time I’m leaving, he’s in his bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen table browsing through the news on his fancy iPad.

When I’m back home, we have dinner and then after…well. After is my favourite part. It’s the only time of the day we get to be together and pay attention to each other completely. Sometimes he plays for me. Sometimes we go on walks with Muppet or watch a film or rush through cleaning up so we can lock ourselves up in our bedroom.

There are other days where he stays at the kitchen table and works on his computer, taking notes and flicking through his thick books that he pings whenever he goes back to London. Those happen when I have a night shift and he stays at home after driving me to the clinic. I’m not going to lie; I love him all the more for it.

I mean, I love him for various reasons, but it’s one of them. It’s not really about the car (I can drive myself now), but about how he’s so conscientious about my schedule. He makes sure to know when I’m going to be out all night and then makes breakfast early so I can eat before I crash all morning.

The way he cared about me once he was home is quite up there on my ‘things I love about Baz’ list, along with his sensible heart and his pretty eyes. I was scared he was going to fuss around me too much and then I’d become an unbearable mess of tears and reminiscing, but that’s not how he went about it.

He let me talk when I wanted to talk about it and left me alone when I wanted to mourn on my own, and then he held me when I needed his arms around me. The rest of the time, he treated me as normal as possible and I’m so thankful for that.

When I told him I had no idea how to go about the legal stuff, he flat out shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, my father and I are working on it,” he said.

I grabbed his hand across the kitchen table. It was six a.m., the morning after his first night back. He was up early and still quite jet-lagged, his dark circles dramatic after his flight and the long chat we had after he got in at midnight.

Why he drove here as soon as he landed when he was that tired, instead of staying in London is still a mystery to me.

“But I-I don’t know. It’s a lot of things, starting with the Club and I don’t know-“

He squeezed my hand and nodded. He was wrapped up in the sofa’s throw and his face was beautiful in the warm light of the kitchen. He looked a little tired, but still so lovely. The curtains were drawn and it was still dark out. Quiet. Only the two of us seemed to be awake at that time.

“Shh. It’s going to be fine. Dev is our lawyer and Father knows a good accountant. They’ll look through his Will and the financial state of the Club. Then, they’ll give you options and we will go from there.”

_We._

“I’m going to sell it,” I said simply.

He shrugged.

“That’s expected, okay? They can do all the paperwork up until the moment you have to sign,” He said, looking serious all of a sudden. “Of course you’d have to meet with them a few times so they can explain the whole process, but I can be there if you want me to.”

It dawned on me that all of those people were professionals, and I couldn’t afford their services.

“I don’t think I can pay for all those lawyers, Baz,” I said weakly.

He gave me a rare soft smile, finally meeting my eyes as he took a sip from his earl grey tea.

“It’s family. It’s more of a family favour at this point than an actual service.”

I felt my cheeks reddening as I said, “But I’m not a Pitch or a Grimm, I don’t understand-“

“You really are thick, you know?” he teased as he rolled his eyes.

Silence spread thickly through the kitchen. He held my eyes for a second before continuing.

“You _could_ be one, if you wanted to. You’d have to marry me, though.”

I‘m not sure if it was because of his words or because of the rain that was hitting the window furiously, but I shivered.

I nodded. “Right.”

His pretty smile faltered, and he looked down, fixing his gaze on his lap.

I knew from back in February when Fiona told me that he was going to propose, but I didn’t want to assume anything or ruin the surprise element. So, at that time I didn’t think of the right thing to say.

“Well, I’ve just put my adoptive Father in a casket. I have no plans.” I said.

I stood, suddenly unable to look at him so directly, so I circled the kitchen table and wrapped both arms around this neck from behind, “But maybe we can see where this leads us, yeah?”

I felt more than I heard his answer, “Alright, Snow.”

When I think of that conversation, I want to _kick_ myself. I don’t know what I was thinking when he was clearly trying to test the waters, and I practically said no.

Now I’m just waiting for the right moment to bring marriage up again, but hopefully today I can move things forward and make him think I’m in it for real.

Today is my birthday, and he’s going back to London full-time by next weekend so he can settle back in before the term starts.

What he doesn’t know is that I might be moving too. I roll over until I’m facing him and kiss his forehead.

##### Baz

Snow’s been jittery all morning, especially after eating the number of pancakes he did at breakfast. He’s probably going to want to go for a run in a bit. That’s new, the amount of exercise he does weekly.

The way he looks now without clothes is my favourite benefit. Not that I wasn’t completely obsessed with him before, but he’s a dream now. With his large frame, he’s gotten lean in all the right places and everywhere else has become bigger, especially his arse. It’s delightful.

Sometimes he manages to drag me along, but mostly I stay home and read while he runs. I’m not going to lie, my football star days are quite past me. Since it’s a Sunday, I’m probably going to go with him, just to spend more time together.

We’re sitting out in the balcony, drinking a cup of tea and watching the sea. Muppet is napping at my feet, keeping my toes warm. It’s all too domestic for my mind to comprehend I get to have this. For now, at least.

Next week we’ll go back to the whole back and forth situation.

He smiles and reaches for my free hand. I intertwine my fingers with his.

“Y’know, um, there’s something I want to tell you,” he says.

I nod. This is it, I think. this is what he’s been working up the courage for since I came back. It’s not uncommon for people to peak up with their longtime partners after a relative’s death.

“Go on,” I reply, not looking at him.

“You might get mad. Or not. But uh, the hospital I work at is opening another panch,” he says.

I can tell he’s treading carefully. I turn a bit on my seat to look at him.

“Oh. Sounds great, love,” I reply.

“Shh. Let me finish. They’re opening another clinic in London. My boss, the owner of the shop, just asked me and the current manager, if we’d be down to move and be in charge,” he continues.

I want to jump from my seat. _Please say yes._ Move to London. With me, preferably.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“It makes sense for him, uh, to stay. His kids already go to school here and he’s just bought a house, so he won’t move,”

I squeeze our joined hands, “So what you’re trying to say is that you’re moving to London?”

He nods eagerly. “Yeah. He said we had a week to take or reject the offer. And we’d have to be working there in a month, so I’d need to look for a flat soon, like next week.”

Now I need to tread carefully for this to work.

“I know it’s _your_ birthday, and I’m not in a position to ask for anything,” He’s looking at me like I’ve grown three heads, “But…what do you think about moving in with me?”

He grins.

“You sure? Because remember I have to take this one with me,” he tilts his head towards Muppet.

He’s such an idiot. It’s not like I’m going to ask him to ditch his dog, _our dog_ , for me. Besides, the flat is large enough for Muppet to have two rooms to himself if we wanted him too.

I roll my eyes at him, “Obviously. He’s my child, too, remember?”

“And I can’t afford half of your rent, so I don’t know how that works out for you,” he babbles on.

“I own it, Snow. I don’t even pay for it. Come on, move in with me. It’ll be like this, but better,” I say, trying to keep hope from my voice. I set my mug on the floor under my chair.

It’s a lot sooner than I expected this to happen, but why the hell not?

He smiles shyly, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll move in with you. But let me pay for the groceries or something, yeah?”

Perhaps life isn’t done dealing me aces yet. It seems like ever since we met eighteen months ago, things have only gotten good.

I stand and place both hands over his cheeks, “Yes. Anything, my love.”

“Okay.” He says tentatively.

I nod. He laughs and then he’s reaching up for me.

“Kiss me, you arse,” he says before kissing me himself with all his energy.

Perhaps running is cancelled for today. Instead, we’ll be doing my favourite form of cardio.

#####  Simon 

November

Living with Baz is everything I expected, and then some. Now that he’s back at work, he wakes up almost too late for the class he’s got to teach at eight, takes a shower and then he runs out of the door.

On the other hand, I’m up at seven, take a shower and have my breakfast before taking Muppet out for a quick pee. Then, we’re both off to work and back at around six. Well, he’s back much earlier, but he’s been volunteering at LSE’s music society, so that takes up a bit of his afternoons.

When he stays, he comes home much later than I do.

It does him well, to teach piano and rehearse three times a week. Helps him channel his feelings back into something creative.

He’s meticulous about how his clothes need to be washed and pressed (which he pays to get done, the lazy sod), and overall, he’s tidy and quiet. The only part of the house that he allows himself to be messy is his study, where it’s filled with wall to wall bookshelves, stacked completely. His desk is always littered with thick folders, empty mugs and pens and the like.

Sometimes I go in there and lie on his sofa when he’s working and mess around on my laptop, watch youtube videos or read articles. It’s what I like about my job. It allows me to leave it at the clinic, versus his own, where he does quite a bit of work at home.

He’s still an associate professor because he started teaching not long ago, but he still makes good money, I think. (We don’t really see each other’s paychecks.) (But you know, he’s still ordering in three times a week, so I don’t think he’s struggling.)

Baz pays for the utility bills in the flat and I keep the fridge full.

I never realised how weird his eating habits are until I started buying for both of us.

He loves to eat everything people commonly hate. Raisins, olives straight from the jar, chunky peanut butter, vinegar crisps, pickles, liquorice, pineapple pizza…you name it. He likes it.

The more I discover what he likes, the funnier it gets. I thought I was the one who didn’t care about what they ate, but apparently, he eats like this on purpose. The first one of his weird tastes I ever discovered was chunky peanut butter. He asked me to get some from Tesco’s, which was fine by me.

He picked up the habit to eat the stuff while he was in America. I wasn’t going to deny him a treat, so I got the first one I saw. The next morning, he was preparing his toast, spreading the stuff thickly on it.

He looked a bit disappointed as I sat across from him on the breakfast table, stirring my tea.

“Love,” he said quietly. He’s always quiet in the mornings.

“Mmm,” I replied through a mouthful of toast.

“Love, no offence, but where the fuck are the chunks?”

I frowned. “What are you on?”

“You know, the crunchy bits on the peanut butter,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh. Well, I didn’t notice there was a different kind,”

He nodded and took another bite of his toast. “There is. Crunchy and chunky. So bloody tasty.”

I couldn’t help but laugh openly. It was hilarious to witness him throwing a small fit over a breakfast spread.

“I can pick up some after work. This one will do for me just fine.”

He smiled like I’d given him an engagement ring. Now that it’s late November, I’m wondering about the ring he bought so long ago. ( I wonder where he keeps it hidden.)

Maybe it wasn’t even for me. Who knows.

When we’d just moved in, I’d ask what he wanted for dinner, he was all, “It’s alright darling, whatever you want is fine.”

Now he’s more along the lines of “Love, if you could make Sheperd’s Pie tonight, I’d be delighted.”

Which is fine by me. I enjoy cooking when I’m home early. When I’m not, he orders in, and he insists on paying for all the takeout we eat. The man literally has a fund for that. Apparently, he spent the same when he lived alone because he ordered almost daily.

##### Baz

Simon and I have been living together for three months now and it’s been everything I expected and so much more. At first, seeing him around the flat doing mundane stuff threw me off here and there, but now we’ve worked out our little routine it’s fantastic.

Just now, on a rainy Sunday night, we’re alone and he’s making shrimp pasta for dinner, working quietly and moving along to the rhythm of the music he’s playing on the speakers. I’m sitting at the kitchen island, drinking a glass of wine while pretending to fill my planner for the next week.

I’m mostly watching him.

Sharing this sort of normal, quiet moment is something I never dreamed of, not even when I was a teenager. The Manor was so large that I rarely saw Malcolm and Daphne having this sort of moment and then during my Uni dating period, it was more of picking them up, going to a fancy restaurant and then that was it. I didn’t really go to their place or ping them here unless we needed somewhere to shag. Then it was cleanup and saying goodbye before the inevitable walk of shame.

Having Simon here making small talk and telling me about what he’s making while he stirs the food around is an unexpected life pleasure. We had sort of lived together before, but somehow with his cookbooks on the counter and his terrible handwriting in the kitchen’s whiteboard marking all of his night shifts and Menu for the week make it feel permanent.

Not that I haven’t thought about making things formal, it’s just that I wanted to do it when I first came back, but he didn’t seem to be into it, so I kept postponing it.

Then we moved in together and planning a proposal is trickier than it seems when we’re together a lot of the time, and then it was someone else’s wedding or birthday party so I kept saying I’d do it next weekend, and then I started feeling comfortable where I am. It feels right, it doesn’t feel like we’re splitting up anytime soon, so I’ve decided to leave things as they are.

Of course I still dream of our first dance and having matching rings and giving Snow my last name and half of my state, but I don’t think that’s what he wants now.

Or ever, I think. But that’s fine. As long as I get to keep him, I don’t care under what circumstances we’re living in.

I’m 27 and I’m completely happy where I am right now.

#####  Simon 

Now, there’s a secret very well kept from the world: Basil Pitch makes the best coffee in the U.K. I dated him for a year and a half before I found out.

There’s no other way to say it. He owns one of the fancy Espresso Machines that are similar to the kind you see in coffee shops. It’s complete with all its knick-knacks: the milk frother and pitcher, coffee grinder and so on. He even has four different Starbucks syrups to make flavoured coffees.

So, when he’s feeling particularly generous, he makes me whatever I ask him to. Sometimes he does it without me asking. Whenever I have a night shift, I find him in the kitchen filling up a thermos with a homemade cappuccino for me. It melts my heart. I love him so much.

My night shifts have become a more common occurrence because there’s only four of us handling the new clinic, so we take turns to be on call twice a week. Work has become a ton heavier, there’s more responsibility on my colleagues and me, but I love it. I get to do every single procedure I learned in school, diagnose, and attend to emergencies.

I try not to get the weekend shifts because that’s the only time I get alone with Baz, but sometimes I end up taking those shifts anyway. On days like today, a rainy Saturday, I strongly consider calling in sick just to stay watching the rain hitting the floor-to-ceiling window in our bedroom.

It’s six in the morning and we’re cuddling, the three of us. I don’t get in until eight, and Baz doesn’t work on Saturdays, the lucky bastard. Our bed faces the gigantic window, giving us a lovely view of Holland Park from above. It’s cosy to watch the rain from the safety of our bed and be able to clutch Baz tighter to my chest. So I do.

He stirs and turns, lying on his back now. He opens his eyes, and they’re soft. Unbearably so. My breath catches.

“Morning,” he says, his voice raspy.

I rub his stomach underneath the thick quilt that’s covering him up to his neck. He’s still naked from last night. We were out drinking with Dev and Danna until it was way too late. Alcohol always makes Baz saucy, and if I’m being honest, he was eager and imprudent before we even reached the flat.

I’m sure the poor cab driver was mortified as Baz kept trying to feel me up in the backseat. All I could do was laugh.

We barely made it inside, between sloppy kisses and shoving each other around the hallway until we reached the bedroom. I turned to lock the door and when I turned back around, he was already naked, walking towards our bed.

Needless to say, we’re both hungover. Not unbearably, but enough.

I kiss his forehead.

“Work,” I say as I get up and carry Muppet from his spot near our feet. I shove him where I was lying, giving him my spot underneath the covers.

Baz groans and rolls away from me, giving me a lovely view of his bare back. I love every inch of his skin, so smooth and unmarred with scars, unlike mine.

I stand there at the edge of the bed, watching him for a couple of minutes and checking my phone. His breath evens again. He’s a heavy sleeper and goes to bed late it takes him for-fucking-ever to make it out of bed when it’s early like this.

That’s fine, though. I have work and then a late lunch with Penelope. He’s going to have lunch with Fiona and Mordelia somewhere around London. Then, they’re taking her shopping for a prom dress or Christmas presents, I can’t remember which one it was, but I know we’ll probably see each other well into the evening.

-

Eating with Penelope every couple of weeks is a sacred tradition. It’s where we bitch about our partners if there is something to bitch about, gossip about the people we went to Uni with and talk whatever nonsense is relevant at the moment.

So far, my bitching about Baz has been mild or nonexistent. I went off a little the time we accidentally locked Muppet in the roof garden and we left the key on the other side of the door. (Well, Baz actually left it. It was right there near his beer.)

I was panicking because it was raining heavily and Muppet was out there alone, so we had to call Dev to come and lend us his set of keys.

They have a copy of each other’s keys, and the reason is sobering. Baz told me as soon as I moved in. Back then, he was going through some rough times right after he graduated Uni, so Dev was scared when he wouldn’t open the door in a couple of days.

Dev was doing his shopping at Tesco’s and ran back, shoved the keys into our hands and ran off after cursing both of us.

Muppet was sleeping between the potted plants, completely unaffected. Not even our screaming match managed to shake him.

Penny’s complaints are small things too, like Micah leaving the toilet seat up after taking a wee or not buying the right kind of biscuits.

I make it to our favourite Italian place just five minutes late. Baz has really rubbed off on me. I’m making it on time everywhere these days. It’s alright because Penelope is always late.

We used to come here all the time when we used to live together. The servings are massive, and their garlic knots are to die for. Baz loves it too, although he favours a completely different type of cuisine.

Once Penny is here, we chat a bit before ordering about their home renovations, and then, once she’s on her third or fourth bite, she stops eating.

“So, nothing from the ring yet?”

I shrug.

“No, but I mean, it’s perfect the way it is. We’re doing so good,” I reply, ignoring the sting I feel whenever I think of it.

She takes a big bite and then tucks into a garlic roll.

“I just find it weird, that since you’re acting married already, he wouldn’t think of just making it official,” she presses.

“I know. Um. It’s a big thing, you know? To tie himself to me forever.”

Creating a legal bond between the two of us. Something I’d do in a heartbeat. I don’t think I would care if we got married alone in a courthouse and ordered tacos right after as our celebration.

She lifts one of her eyebrows, which can only mean danger.

“Do you want to marry him?” she asks, holding my gaze.

My answer is immediate, “Yes.”

“Have you thought about asking him yourself?” she asks.

Well. No.

Actually…

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

She nods.

“Exactly. It’s November now. You’ve been living together for five months now, and together for-“

She waves her hand dismissively.

“A year and eleven months,” I reply cheekily.

I take a huge bite of my fettuccini, trying to settle the thought of proposing in my mind. It doesn’t sound terrible. I was only waiting for Baz to do it because he had the ring already, but it’s pretty daft to wait when we both know what we want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe x  
> Hope you liked this! FInal chapter will go up someday this week!
> 
> Lots of love, 
> 
> MP x
> 
> P.S. If you liked this, drop me a comment :) they make me so happy!


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